Smile
by Carpetbag
Summary: AURedClark doesn't smash the ring during his confrontation with Jonathan, instead he skips town and goes for the ride of his life with someone just as desperate as him.
1. Arc 1 Ch1

WARNING: What you are about to read is probably a terrible skewing of what Clark's graduation ring really is, but I've decided that in my world RedClark is a lot deeper than he is usually portrayed. Please forgive my errors and see this story for what it really is: Something I write from time to time late at night to entertain myself.

With that in mind,

Enjoy

The first time he sees her, it is only for an instant. He has been in the club every night for countless nights and never seen her before, so he brushes off her memory and slides over to the next beautiful blonde. It feels thick tonight, and smoky. It's like he's choking and doesn't know how to stop, slow down, take a deep breath and let it go. The tightness in his chest-that feeling that is always there no matter what he's doing-intensifies, and he forgets the blonde. The street is the only refuge from the closeness, and even then it trails him, enveloping him like a hot blanket at the peak of summer.

A few minutes later he is in a different club, the girl forgotten.

He never goes back to that first place, not anymore. The strangeness lingers, and every time he goes near it he feels the pressure, the push. Even with the ring on, he somehow feels guilty.

He's been at the new place for maybe a week when he sees her. Pale and glistening in the strobe lights and he is captivated. She sways, eyes closed, arms reaching out to something that isn't there, lost in the rhythm and the bass line and the drums. Clark looks away.

"A double beam." He says.

"Coming right up, Kal." Says the bartender. He knows Clark's name because even after a week people want to know him. Want to have him. It's vaguely disturbing, but only in the deepest part of his Kryptonite addled mind. To Kal, it feels good to be at the forefront.

He looks out to the dance floor and she is gone again, but this time he doesn't feel the tightness. So maybe, he thinks, it wasn't her.

"Hey." She says, from beside him. And how did he not realise she was there? Hew did he not notice her?

He looks her up and down and she is even less pretty close up than far away. Her skin is almost translucent. She has the unnatural, emaciated thinness that only heroin addicts and the homeless can possess. Her eyes are large, and dark grey, but sharp, taking in every detail of him in a devouring gaze. Her hair is black, and very wild, tangled around itself in a big mess. Her lips have that perpetually chewed-on look, but they are full and red, and Clark thinks he might be up for anything.

A few feet behind her is a tall, well-dressed woman. She stares at him hungrily.

"Sorry, babe." He tells the dangerous one. "Not interested." He brushes past her, not bothering to watch her expression, and when he looks back she is gone. He feels something stir inside him. Something like disappointment.

The blonde who had been eyeing him has short, stylishly cut locks, a sharp nose and a wide mouth. Just like Chloe he thinks vaguely, but clamps down on that thought with fierce determination. He wants this girl. She's the one.

But.

He kisses her during the second song they dance together and she loves it. He feels nothing. He remembers the trickling warmth when he thought of Lana and Chloe. He remembers the vast bursts of flame when Desiree came and he developed heat vision. There is no fire with-

"My name's Kristy."

It's like bubblegum. Sweet for a moment, but after a while it's boring and tasteless.

He leaves her on the dance floor and breezes out of the club.

Clark thinks about super-speeding back to his apartment, but then decided it's a nice night for a walk. He remembers walking down the farm road at night. He remembers the stars that twinkled and he looks up. He can't see a single star now. He doesn't feel more that a twinge of regret, but it's a twinge too much, and he decides he has to stamp that guilt and regret out of his system.

He goes looking for trouble.

Luckily, he doesn't have to go far. From one of the darker alleyways he hears a pained whimper. He steps into the mouth of the street and looks down, but it's pitch black. He doesn't know whether to stop whatever crime was being committed and commit it himself, or just watch it happen and then bust up whoever got away. Which would be more fun, he asks himself.

Finally he can see them. A large man is pressing a girl into the wall. Her face is mashed up against the brick, and even in the dark Clark can see the wild look in her eyes. The man has his hand up her back of her short, black, pleated skirt and Clark realises quite suddenly that this is the girl from the club. Her black mesh tights have gaping holes in both the front and back, probably, Clark thinks, from the big man rubbing up against her. Her legs are chafing urgently against the brick, making them bleed a little.

Suddenly the frightened look is gone from her eyes and replaced by something Clark can't describe. She elbows hard back into his gut, and when he pulls back momentarily she elbows him in the face. He lets go of her completely.

Clark doesn't know what fascinates him more: the thick chain hung loosely around her waist unravelling into a dangerous weapon, or the eerie silence as the fight begins in earnest.

She is good with the chain, and he finally sees the heavy metal padlock attached to the end of it. On her first swing she aims for his stomach but he jumps away just in time. While she winds up, he tries to charge, and with a grunt, he runs at her. She catches him way off guard with a swing across the face.

Clark hears bone crack and crunch and cry, and the would-be rapist or thief or whatever falls to the ground with an inarticulate sob. She keeps going at him until he doesn't even jerk in reaction anymore. Then she kicks him for good measure.

"Fucking bastard." She mutters as she stumbles out of the alley, shaking slightly. She doesn't notice Clark standing there behind the boxes, and he can't move. Even though he tries to go after her his feet are stuck to the ground, his hands stapled to his sides, his mouth sewn shut. It is a good five minutes before he can move, and at first does so only by accident, stepping away from a rat that scampers across his shoe. He breathes.

He searches for the girl, but can't say why. He can't find her.

He goes home with the now familiar ache in his chest, so very different from the burn of the ring he's encountered once or twice.

That night he takes the ring off and cries. He feels better when he puts it back on, and decides not to ever take it off again.

In the morning, he picks a newspaper off the street.

LUTHOR HEIR MISSING---PRESUMED DEAD

It proclaims this in loud letters, like joy or sorrow or something else felt strongly - only not, because it's just a newspaper and they never knew him like Clark did. . . Clark devours the article with a numbness he never knew was possible. Whatever reaction he might have had as his weaker self is suppressed so far that he doesn't even realise it's there.

That morning he contemplates robbing a bank.


	2. Arc 1 Ch2

The car he arrives at the club in that night is probably even hotter that the girl he's with. But he doesn't notice or doesn't care. Either way, the keys are passed off to some drooling admirer before he even gets in the door. Cars like that, for him, are a dime a dozen.

As he ditched the car, so does he ditch the girl, albeit in a more roundabout way. A kiss that leaves him cold and keeps him soft makes him angry, and he can't help grabbing her hand when she tries to touch the mark on his chest. He watches her scamper away, and doesn't care. The bartender makes some smart remark, and Clark wants to wring his neck for butting into his business, but plays it cool. He lets the words roll off his tongue and imagines he can see them dancing in the air.

The people on the floor are throbbing, gyrating, flowing in disconnected rhythms that Clark doesn't care much for. All he knows is that he wants to be a part of the heat, and he works his way through the crowd. People touch him in places he has never been touched before arriving in Metropolis, but he doesn't care. He welcomes the freedom and opens his arms when a particularly hot brunette steps up to the plate. He knows what she wants.

The heat moves in him. From his gut, up his intestines, through his stomach, all the way up to his throat. It passes through his nasal cavities and comes to rest just behind his eyes.

"Oh my God, your eyes." The girl says, and he jerks away from her. Panic rises like bile in his throat and he has to get out before he snaps.

He's in the phone booth before he even realises what he's doing. The heat has dissolved from his eyes and reappeared at his chest, but this time it's pain. The worst kind. The chafe of his shirt hurting more that the meteor rocks. It's gouging and scraping and tearing and the second he pulls the ring off the pain subsides.

He doesn't want the heat anymore.

His mother's voice over the phone is a whole new kind of pain that he doesn't even know how to name. She sounds desperate, just like him, he thinks. He wants to go home. If he goes now, he might make it there before she even hangs up the phone. If he hurries. Maybe, if he goes now, his dad won't hate him like Clark hates himself. Maybe Lana will forgive him for the things he said, and for leaving. Maybe Chloe will keep his secret long enough for him to tell it himself. Where he's been. Why.

Maybe Pete won't hate him for running away from his problems.

He doesn't let himself think about Lex, because there isn't anything to think about anymore. Lex is.

He puts the ring back on and runs home.

OOOO

Bank robbery is a lot cooler than he though it was. He felt powerful when he was dodging bullets. And catching that last one had been pretty cool, too. But now it's over and he feels just a little stupid for leaving so much stuff behind. The balaclava, for one thing, had been foolishly discarded. Now they had proof that the bullets had hit him. He hadn't even begun to consider the consequences of his actions...

It feels like Jonathan is in his head telling him to be careful. But he doesn't need to be careful because no one knows what can hurt him. And he wants to keep it that way.

He hears something. Footsteps climbing the metal staircase outside his building. Three people. He pulls the duvet over his head and acts natural.

When they shoot him he almost laughs.

The conversation that follows is almost comical. He feels like he is in some gangster movie and he doesn't like it. He doesn't like what Edge is saying and dismisses him without hesitation, but when the older man is gone he feels a stab of something he can't identify.

That day he goes to Lex's funeral.

He doesn't know what he expected to find or feel, but it certainly wasn't the stark emptiness that chills through his body and leaves him numb. Lana sees him and he runs. He's afraid of what he can feel even through the ring's pulsing energy. She could be the one to change him, he thinks. And then he decides, she couldn't. But she could be the one to join him. If she wants to.

He doesn't think she wants to.

But that's okay. He doesn't need her so much as he wants her, and he doesn't even want her for the right reasons. She's pretty and she's innocent and the allure of corrupting the seemingly incorruptible is very strong. But that's what makes it fun.

OOOO

The aftermath of Chloe's visit leaves shockwaves scorching through Clark's body for hours. It is not so much the guilt from their encounter as the memory of said guilt. The fact that it's there and he can't do anything about it without the ring driving him crazy. It makes him feel weak, and powerless.

He hates it.


	3. Arc 1 Ch3

(AN: JUST A QUICK NOTE ABOUT CONTINUITY: This picks up after Clark's fight with Jonathan, but he doesn't end up smashing his ring on the wall. Instead he hi-tails it outta there.)

OOOO

He is still breathing heavily when he gets back to his loft. The ring glows brightly as he stuffs the few possessions he cares enough about into a small duffel bag and writes a note for the superintendent. He puts it in an envelope along with two month's rent in cash and slips it under the door of the super's apartment. Luckily she's an old woman who goes to bed early, so she isn't awake to confront him.

He isn't tired, but he can't seem to stop his breath from coming in short, sharp gasps that echo in the darkened street. He's never hyperventilated in his life, and he refuses to do so now. He forces himself into a slow, calm rhythm that soothes and relaxes.

Clark has never felt more alone in his entire life.

He knew, in the back of his mind, that it was only a matter of time before the Kents found him, but Jonathan's superpowers were quite a shock. He doesn't have the time to figure out where they came from, but he's certain it has something to do with Jor-El.

Since he left the motorcycle at the site of the bank robbery, and he gave away the car, he has no mode of transportation beyond walking. He thinks that if he uses his super speed, he's going to burn himself out. He's beginning to feel the effects of panic. His muscles are weaker, they're shaky and quivery and he knows he has to find somewhere to hide but he can't concentrate on anything and-

Clark is suddenly surrounded by three burly guys. The leer at him menacingly and in any normal situation Clark would just push them out of his way, but he can feel his vision spiralling, and his hearing is getting distant. His chest hurts.

They start pushing him, and he can't seem to do anything in the way of defending himself. There is a glint of green and-

"Not so tough now, are you?" He vaguely hears one of them say, and receives a hard punch to the stomach. It doesn't hurt, really, but together with the strange attack on his body it has a winding effect, and Clark gets dizzier by the second.

And then they are gone. Clark falls, bag forgotten at his side.

He hears a sharp cry and the crack of shattered bone.

Before he loses complete consciousness he sees a pale, pale face edged in black, hovering over him like some kind of dark angel.

OOOO

Clark wakes up to the strangely familiar blare of daytime TV. He thinks he can hear Maury Povitch in the background, talking about how terrible some little bald girl has it. The first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is a yellowed ceiling, complete with cracked, torn paint. It isn't anywhere that he would willingly go, he's certain.

Which can only mean one thing.

When he finally feels like he has the strength to move, he turns his head in the direction of the TV and sure enough, there she is.

She sits with her knees curled up and to the side. Her black hair is swept in a messy wave over her shoulder. She is still wearing her ripped tights, short pleated skirt, and black ribbed tank top.

Her eyes are still hollow.

"So, you're finally awake."

Her smile is slight, but he sees the turning up of the edges of her lips.

"Are you hungry?" She asks, and the opportune rumbling of his stomach answers for him. She stands and goes over to the table in the corner of the tiny room. There are two plastic bags, and she searches one of them, finally pulling out a loaf of bread and a jar of marmalade. "I used to live off this stuff." She unscrews the jar and snags a plastic knife from the bag and begins spreading. "When I was twelve I spent probably nine months travelling from music festival to music festival-it didn't matter what kind, jazz or rock or folk or whatever- and I pretended I was Paddington Bear, eating marmalade sandwiches all the way." She waits until he's sitting up and then thrusts the sandwich into his hand.

Clark takes a tentative bite and then begins to tear into it. As soon as he swallows the first bite he feels ravenous.

She sits in a flimsy metal chair and fixes a sandwich of her own, and then wrinkles her nose when she takes a small bite.

"I took money from your bag to pay for this room and buy the groceries."

For some reason, he waves it off. "Make me another?"

She hands him hers and reaches into the bag. She pulls out an apple and shines it on her shirt before taking a bite. The crunch echoes loudly in the otherwise silent space.

"Who are you?" He asks. She raises an eyebrow. "I mean-what's your name?"

"I'm-"She looks sideways. "Smiley." She looks at him. "You don't have any ID on you. I checked." He's surprised she doesn't look more embarrassed about searching through his things, but she seems completely unruffled. She is at ease in this tiny room.

"Where are we?" He can feel the rest of his darker half trickling back into his body, making him colder, harder than he was before. But in an instant he adds-"I'm Kal." before everything goes away. He immediately regrets it.

"We're in a little motel in the north end. The Royal Edgar." She almost grins.

"I have to go." Clark starts to get up.

"Where?" She asks with something of desperation in her voice.

"Somewhere far away from here. Metropolis."

"Like what? Gotham?"

He likes the sound of that. He's heard rumours about the things that went down in Gotham. It was a city for criminals.

"Yeah." He says, a cocky smirk forming.

"Take me with you." She commands.

He freezes. "No."

"Kal." Something in her voice makes him turn to face her, and she wavers for an instant. "Kal, I know what you're running from."

"Oh yeah?" Suddenly he's in a very dangerous situation.

"I've been running since I was twelve." She pauses to look into his eyes. "I can't stay here, Kal, in this city. But I can't run alone anymore."

Clark doesn't answer immediately. Even with the red ring, he knows he's going to want someone once in a while. Someone like him, not just those silicone-infused blonde bimbo-whores.

"What's in it for me?"

". . ." She stares at him. "I don't have anything to give you. No money. No drug connections that are worth a fuck. Sex?" She says it like it's a question, and he nods almost involuntarily.

"That's a start." He says.

She says nothing, only nods.

"So. I'll take you with me wherever I go, and in turn you'll do whatever I want."

She grimaced, but abruptly smoothed her face into something neutral. "I don't like the way you say it."

"What would you prefer?"

"Never mind. Let's just not talk about it." They are frozen in pace for a moment, it seems, but then she tentatively moves over to the bed and sits down next to him. She strokes his hair back from his face. He laughs.

"So we're getting right to it, huh?"

She flinches away.

"You know, you're a real bastard."

"I know." Then he pulls her in for a kiss. He's wandering into dangerous territory here, but he's not about to let her know that for all the women he's picked up, he's never actually gone through with it. His memories of those nights are sharp and clear and he can distinctly recall the disgust that worried its way into his chest and forced him to push the girls away.

He doesn't feel anything remotely like disgust now. All he feels is the intense heat pooling in his groin instead of behind his eyes and he almost cries out.

She obviously knows what she's doing.

"Is this what you do for a living, Smiley?" It's a cruel question and yet another attempt by his subconscious to drive her away.

"If I were a whore I'd have enough money to get out of this town on my own." She says without inflection, and resumes gnawing on his lips, chin, throat. Tiny bites, big, open-mouthed teeth-kisses.

"Goo-ah-ood point." He gasps.

"You like that?" She does it again, swirling her tongue around his collarbone. She tugs at the hem of his shirt and he raises his arms so she can pull it off. She gazes at him for a moment, something in her eyes that he can't quite read, and then she moves in.


	4. Arc 1 Ch4

Hey all.

I really wanted to get this chapter out a lot sooner than I did, but everything has just been so hectic! My life is insane and I wish I could do something about it, but. . . I really can't.

Man, university sucks.

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This time, Clark wakes up first. It is a hazy awakening. He's not sure exactly where he is at first, but the body he is curled into brings back his memories quite clearly.

It is night, and the only light in the room is the light from the street or the moon, Clark can't tell which.

The glow makes Smiley seem less washed out and more ethereal. He decides she is a night creature, not meant to come out in the day.

In her sleep there is a strange beauty to her. Her black hair gleams, this time soft and tangle-free. Her skin is pale and almost completely unblemished, beyond a scar on her back that she refused earlier to answer any questions about.

Her eyes haunt him. Even closed, he can feel her staring at him from the hollows of her face. He won't admit to fright, but it's not something he's comfortable with just yet.

Instead he thinks about last night.

The memory makes him shiver.

She devoured him. He barely did anything; just let her ride him. He remembered the shocking moment when she pulled away and got off the bed. She reached into the other plastic bag that was sitting on the table and pulled out a box. He didn't bother to question her use of condoms, even though he knew he couldn't get sick.

Right now he feels really good. Like he's meant for this kind of life.

Sex and drugs(red) and rock and roll and all sorts of other things he hasn't even thought of yet.

He know it's there, though. The promise of never-ending freedom and youth. Every time he thinks about it he gets a little thrill, and he can't stop thinking of someone he knew who believed in youth and strength and eternal beauty.

But, like everything else the memory slips by him and he's left grasping at the vague image of smooth shine and sharp wit.

He gets up, not bothering to be gentle about pushing Smiley aside, and heads to the bathroom. He ignores her indignant squeak and shuts the door. When he emerges from the shower he finds her eating another apple.

"What happened to Paddington Bear?" He half-mocks.

"I thought for some reason I was over it, you know, but I guess not." She shrugs, not really answering his question.

"Well, I think we should go for dinner." He announces.

"Where?"

"Get dressed."

"I have to shower first!" She cries indignantly.

"You have twenty minutes or I'm leaving without you." She knows he means for more than just dinner.

They go to the Pancake House.

"Are those all the clothes you have?" He asks her disdainfully.

She looks down at herself. "I had some jeans and a hoodie in my bag but I lost that last night when I was chasing away those thugs."

"How did you lose it?"

"I left it with this girl I was walking with and when I went back she was gone."

Clark frowns. He hasn't had much exposure to street life; he prefers to stay in the glitz and glamour of the upscale club scene. He likes tall blonde women and fast cars. Usually. For some reason he finds Smiley's reality infinitely more exciting. Perhaps because it's less obvious.

He can feel her eyes on him now. He can't meet them. He stares down at his full plate of steak and potatoes, and digs in. He should be famished, Smiley clearly is. She accepted her stack of pancakes with relish when it came, and now she is eating heartily. He doesn't know what he was thinking in his early assessment of some sort of addiction. She's just homeless and hungry.

He doesn't know what he's doing, taking her with him. He won't be able to use his powers most of the time, and he'll have to get rid of her for a while if he plans to make another heist. But last night had been really good. . . It had been something other than the cold and the anger, and he wants more of it.

So he watches her eat, occasionally picking at his own dinner, and thinks about nothing.

When their meal is over, the waitress comes over.

"Would you like me to box that up for you?" She asks.

"Ye-"Smiley begins, but Clark cuts her off.

"That won't be necessary." He smiles at the waitress, tosses a few bills on the table, and grabs Smiley by the wrist. He drags her out of the restaurant but she doesn't protest at the rough treatment. "I'm not tired." He says cheerily. "Are you tired?"

"Not really." He grins and keeps his hold on her arm.

"Okay. Cool." They walk briskly down the street. "You know, I think we need a car."

"A car?"

"Yeah, and I know just the place."

The dealership he went to last time is nowhere near this neighbourhood, but he knows another one, open all night.

Two hours later they are on the road. He doesn't ask her if there's anyone she needs to say goodbye to, or anything she needs to pick up, but he promises himself that in the next town they stop at he'll buy her some new clothes.

Clark had contemplated heading back to Smallville one last time, but now that he has Smiley with him he knows it wouldn't be possible to be as inconspicuous as he needs to be. Instead, as a sort of going-away party for himself, he turns the radio on and blasts it into the car. He grins at Smiley, who smiles back. They listen to the blaring music until they lose the frequency of the city station, and then they drive in silence.

Smiley falls asleep, and Clark listens to the gentle sound of her breathing. He winds up driving almost ten hours straight, and Smiley wakes to the rising sun. She yawns and stretches.

"Mmm. . . What time is it?" She squeaks as she stretches.

"Just after eight." Clark answers.

She looks at him. "Do you want me to take over for a while?"

"I think it's time to break for breakfast. I saw a sign for a town a couple miles ahead. We'll stay there for the day and find a hotel or something for tonight. I want to travel during the day from now on."

"Yeah, alright." She looks out the window, and Clark knows she is looking for the grain elevators common to small farm towns. He wonders where she came from, but he won't ask. He's not planning to ask her anything.

"I've been to Gotham once or twice." She tries to fill the silence. "First when I was halfway through my little festival tour." She doesn't use any kind of hand gestures, and her voice is a blank narration, devoid of colour and feeling. Clark knows she's not really thinking about what she's saying. She's just the type of girl who doesn't like letting silences get awkward. Right now he doesn't mind her chatter; it's keeping him awake. "It was a really cool jazz festival. There were so many people. Bohemians and the ultra chic and everyone you could think of went to the shows. That was where I lost my virginity."

As she says the words, she places her hand in Clark's lap and the car swerves. Smiley giggles.

"Ah." He says. "Smiley." Every time she touches him a fire in him lights up from the inside, but the idea of her being with someone else before him makes his muscles clench and shift.

She runs her palm down and then up his thigh, just grazing his crotch before sliding underneath his t-shirt to caress the skin and scar there. It isn't long before she has her hand on the zipper of his pants and she is pulling gently away from the skin. The sound of the zipper opening is almost enough to do away with Clark's control right there, but he forces self-control.

The car only swerves twice before reaching the town.


	5. Arc 1 Ch5

So. . . I guess an author's note is in order here. . .

La-di-da-di-da the usual disclaimer. Any resemblance to people or places are coincidental and aren't meant to be in any way harmful. Gotham is NOT a replica of New York city, mainly because I've never been to New York and therefore have no knowledge of its streets or businesses.

Enjoy

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They stay at the Hapy Inn. It should be the Happy Inn but one of the P's has fallen off the side of the building and is nowhere to be seen. It's the only hotel in the tiny town, so they make do. They stash their stuff, or rather Clark's stuff, in the back of the room's dingy closet and fall onto the bed. Clark is suddenly exhausted, barely able to move. He falls asleep almost instantly.

Smiley is gone when he wakes up. He checks the clock. The red numbers read: 4:38 pm. He growls and checks the closet. As he rifles through his bag he notices that some of his money is gone. Anger floods his veins and he storms out of the room, intent on locating the missing girl. The elevator door slides open almost on cue, and she steps out with a plastic bag in her hand.

He stops and looks at her. "Where were you?" He growls.

"I went for some food. They have a little convenience store down the street and they had some t-shirts on sale so I got one for myself." Her face doesn't show any recognition of Clark's anger, and she practically dances to their room He follows her back, and the instant the door is closed he is on her.

At first they sit at the tiny table in the corner. Clark watches Smiley peel open a granola bar wrapper and break off a chunk at a time, chewing thoughtfully before popping the next piece in. He says nothing when she offers him a piece of granola bar.

"What's the matter?" She asks, sensing a sudden change in mood when Clark's eyes darken briefly. "Aren't you hungry?"

Clark doesn't waste any time. He pulls her against him with one arm and lifts her so her toes barely brush the ground.

"Let's fuck." He says, and kisses her fiercely. She tastes like honey and granola, and smells like sweat.

When they wake for the second time, Clark and Smiley leave the inn right away. It's still dark, and the sun won't colour the horizon for at least another hour. The clock reads 4:00 AM, but there is an all night clerk at the desk; a tall, thin man with an aura of mothballs and eyes like a crow.

Smiley is wearing her new shirt. It's dark blue and has a big cob of corn stretched across the chest that proclaims, in bold red font: Kansas! Corn capital of the world!

It's utterly tasteless, but she seems to enjoy wearing it. Clark focuses sharply on her as she turns onto the highway. He remembers her as a too-thin club kid, dying in the flashing lights by way of heroin and acid. But as he looks her over he sees her hollow thinness filling out and her curly black hair gaining lustre.

He sees a girl who is almost the complete opposite of anything he was ever interested in before and after the ring. He remembers Lana in only the most general of ways, soft and chaste, who he still lusts after but doesn't want in any of the intensity he had before. Chloe, sharp and witty, a secret dream lover that he'd never really entertain the reality of. There were the soft, yet brittle and nameless blondes he had entertained night after night in Metropolis. Clark sees a sameness in Smiley; she runs, unlike the others, parallel to him. She knows something about him that even he doesn't, even if she doesn't realize it.

When Clark finally feels his stomach grumbling, it's almost 2 PM. He asks, "Do we have any food in the car?"

"It's on the backseat." She replies with a choked sort of tone that he ignores. He opens the bag on his lap and peers inside. There is a bag of apples, the box of granola bars and a two-litre bottle of juice. He pulls out an apple and rubs it on his shirt before taking a bite. The juice dribbles over his chin and he swipes it away with the back of his hand.

Smiley pulls over. She rests her head on the steering wheel.

"What is it?" Clark asks.

She turns her tear-stained face toward him. "I can't drive anymore. I'm too tired." She gets out and wipes her face. Clark thinks that Smiley might be more trouble than she's worth, but he doesn't want to let her go just yet.

Smiley quietly checks the map as Clark gets back onto the highway. "We only have about two-hundred miles left before Gotham."

"Good." He says. He doesn't ask why she was crying and she doesn't try to volunteer the information. They don't speak until they reach Gotham city limits.

Clark pulls up at what seems to be one of the more posh hotels and expects Smiley to look around in wonder. "Can you afford this?"

"Of course." He gives his keys to the valet standing outside the door and pops the trunk. He takes them out, and a hotel employee bustles forward to carry them inside. Clark lets him carry everything but the duffel bag full of cash.

They are whisked away upstairs to a large, if not luxurious room.

Clark decides it's time to go shopping.

"Come on." He pulls on Smiley's arm.

"Kal." She moans, slumping down on the bed. "I'm tired."

"I don't care."

He drags her to the elevator, and then to the valet. When the car comes around, Smiley finally decides she wants to go wherever Clark is taking them.

"How well do you know this city?"

"Pretty well, I guess." She looks at him. "Why?"

"What's the best place to shop for clothes?"

Clark can see the idea dawn on her. "Best or most expensive?"

"Most expensive."

"That's. . . There's a strip up on King Street." She gives him directions and when they turn onto the street, Clark can see Smiley sink a little lower in her seat.

He parks on the street and gets out. He doesn't wait for her, just starts walking toward the closest store. He hears her hesitate, then climb out of the car and run after him.

The interior of the boutique is a cacophony of colour and sound. Techno music wafts from the ceiling, and muted exclamations sound from customers and sales clerks alike. Everywhere they look, there are vibrant colours and bizarre styles.

"Oh! Beautiful!" Someone exclaims, and suddenly they are ambushed. "Hello, darlings, welcome to The Max! You two must be here for the shoot!" She snaps her fingers.

"Ah." Clark begins, but a short, flamboyant man instantly appears beside the woman.

"Fabulous!" He trills. "The contrast is amazing!"

"What are you talking about?" Smiley blurts out.

"You two! It's absolutely beautiful together!"

"Oh my GAWD it's almost six-thirty!" The woman shrieks. "We've got to get moving here, people." She grabs Clark and Smiley each by the hand and tries to lead them somewhere. Smiley stumbles forward, but Clark stands his ground.

"We're not. . . models." He tells her, and she turns around, shocked.

"You're not?"

"We're just here to shop." He reaffirms.

"Oh! Oh my! I'm terribly sorry!" She lets go of their hands and steps back. "You're really not models?"

"No."

There is a short pause as the tall, almost frighteningly thin woman stares at them.

"-Doll! Doll! I just got off the phone with Amanda! Their taxi driver got into an accident and Ryan had to go to the hospital."

"And of course Amanda had to go with him." The woman says to the petite blonde who instantly reminds Clark of Chloe.

The woman called Doll purses her lips and glances at the pair. "Why don't-"

"No." Clark says and turns to leave.

"I will." Smiley looks at Clark and he sees something pleading in her eyes.

"We need a pair." The tall woman asks beseechingly.

"No." Clark says firmly, trying to ignore the look Smiley is giving him. Anyone could see the pictures. Martha, Jonathan, Lana, Pete, Chloe. He can't do it.


	6. Arc 1 Ch6

"Okay honeys, now try something different. Kal, move your hand up her thigh. Smiley turn a bit more toward him. That's perfect."

The entire concept of him being in a photo shoot is almost laughable. The flashes going off around him and the echoey voices and the warm, familiar body pressed up against him make it a surreal experience. He finds it easier to detach himself from the outside world and just mindlessly follow the directions being tossed around. He isn't thinking, isn't feeling. It's almost freeing; the lack of control and power is surprisingly relaxing.

He doesn't really know how he got roped into it. At first he tried fighting it. He tried to reject Doll's plea, and almost left Smiley there. He almost walked out of the store and drove away. Instead he allowed himself to be led to the back room when he was sized and outfitted, and then shown upstairs, where the actual shoot was taking place.

Smiley was radiating when they got upstairs. She reminded Clark of a child, curious and precocious. Looking at her now makes his heart beat just a little bit faster. Her black hair is styled into something less greasy and more voluminous, and her eyes shine in their charcoal brilliance. Her cheeks are still hollow, but she looks different to Clark. She looks like something really special.

Her eyes flicker up to his and she holds his gaze for a long moment.

"That's perfect! Beautiful!" The photographer says, and not long after that the shoot is over.

"I'm certain we'll be using your shots." Doll says to them after they've got their old clothes back on. "I'll need a mailing address where I can send your cheques."

"Can't you pay us in cash?" Clark asks, and at the same time Smiley rattles off a post office box number. Doll writes it down.

"Who can I make it out to?"

They both pause and glance at each other.

"Make it out to. . ." Smiley hesitates. "Suzanne Delaurier."

"Wonderful." They turn to leave. "Wait. How will I contact you?"

Clark shrugs and refuses to wait any longer. "Let's go."

"Hold on." Smiley says, and runs over to three bags leaning innocuously against the wall.

They leave the store.

"Look at this!" As they get into the car, Smiley reaches into the bag and pulls out a camera. She grins widely.

"Where did you get that?" Clark asks, starting to smile.

"I jacked it from the photographer." She says, smile narrowing to a smirk. "I hid it in one of the bags of clothes they gave us."

He turns his attention back to the road and ignores her until he hears the telltale click of the camera. "Don't take pictures of me." He says sharply and she immediately turns the camera away. She takes a picture of her own face instead, and then she rolls down the window and leans her head out.

"Where are we going?" She asks him after snapping a few more pictures of the scenery.

Clark considers. "Suzanne, eh?" The moment he asks she shuts down. Her arms go across her chest and her lips purse and she crosses her leg away from him. She stares straight ahead.

"You said you'd only been here twice. Why do you have a mailbox?"

She says nothing. Clark's anger is simmering below the surface and he's been holding it back for days. He hasn't had a proper outlet for it since he picked her up for the ride what seems like weeks ago but is really only days.

"Fucking Christ!" He yells, pulling over abruptly. "Get out!"

She just stares at him, eyes wide and lips parted slightly in a way that makes Clark want to take back the command. The thought somehow increases the potency of his rage; as if any girl could make him do something he didn't want to! He immediately gets out of the car and runs around to the passenger side. He yanks the door open so violently that it creaks on its hinges, and then he rips the seatbelt neatly across the seam. Her arm feels fragile in his hand and he thinks he probably used more force than necessary when he drags her out of the car and allows her to fall into a puddle of dirty water.

"What the hell?" She asks, almost in shock.

"You're not fucking pretty enough to keep around if I have to deal with this fucking attitude that you have! And I know I can find someone else to fuck me, so fuck off!" Clark stalks back around to the driver's side and pulls away from the curb. As he drives away he sees her picking herself up in the rear view mirror. She wrings out her skirt and the bottom of her shirt, and pushed the wet hair out of her eyes. She watches the car drive out of sight, and Clark watches her watch him.

Clark doesn't know what attitude he was talking about, and he's not sure if he even wants to find someone else as permanent as she was, but the words came naturally, and all he could think of was getting rid of her. After driving for another few minutes her finds out why.

He can't help but swerve wildly when the first wave of pain starts. It's the sudden burn in his chest that makes Clark want to throw up and cry and take the damn ring off all at once. Of course he settles for taking his ring off momentarily.

He pulls into an alley, barely keeping it together, and puts the car in park. Almost immediately he begins convulsing. He can hardly hold his hands still enough to manoeuvre the ring off his finger and the relief when he does is like nothing he's ever felt, at least it seems that way now. The burn on his chest chafes against his shirt but he's too exhausted to take it off or rip it open or whatever. He sits, slumped against the steering wheel for a moment and finally puts the car in drive.

He has to get back to Smiley and see if she's alright! He can't leave her alone in the city. There is a different pain in his chest now, one that is achingly familiar. He stares at the ring on the dashboard as he tries to retrace his steps back to where he'd dumped her, but she's gone. It's almost like his heart is shattering. . . Why the hell did he come here anyway? To get away? Unable to help himself, Clark snatches up the right and shoves it onto his finger.

The relief is almost physical. The tightness is released and his face relaxes from the grimace. He returns to the hotel, unbelievably tired.

When Clark gets back up to his room he sees Smiley's chain sitting innocuously on the bed. He realises she doesn't have it with her and isn't at all surprised by the numbness that follows that thought. He doesn't think about the fact that she has no money and nothing to defend herself with and nowhere to go.

Clark falls into bed at eleven-thirty and is out like a light.


	7. Arc 1 Ch7

This Chapter has been edited for content. If anyone wants the NC17 version, just give me an e-mail and I'll be glad to send it to you.

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Clark wakes at exactly five-thirty AM. Some nights his body forgets he's no longer on the farm and it automatically energizes itself at the right time. He lies in the stiflingly hot bed and realises he's still alone, but he doesn't care. He takes a long time in the shower and then he pulls on a black t-shirt, his leather jacket, and a pair of dark jeans he got from the shoot at The Max.

At eight-thirty breakfast arrives. He barely remembers arranging it the day before. . . Right after they got to the hotel. It is a two person spread with things Clark doesn't even like on it. He doesn't remember now why he ordered it. He eats, picks up his duffel bag and heads out the door.

He super-speeds far away from the hotel and stands across the street from a row of ATM's. He unzips the bag and starts toward the machines. Abruptly he turns and disappears. He heads to the nearest drugstore and pockets a balaclava. Then he goes back, pulls the hat over his face and punches open the metal, just like he did last time.

The alarm goes but Clark ignores it. He moves down the line, suddenly struck by the familiarity of the job to the one in Metropolis.

"Fuck." He says out loud. Jonathan and Martha and everyone else probably know about what he'd done. This is just going to lead them straight to him. He finishes what he's doing and heads back to the hotel. He stashes the mask in his duffel bag with the money. Immediately he changes his clothes and heads down to the lounge.

Clark's only seventeen but the bartender doesn't even take a second glance when Cark requests his first shot. Even though it's only 1 o-clock in the afternoon, there are several people lined up against the bar, all of them hunched over their liquid cures.

He knocks back the first, the second, and the third before he realises it's not having any effect.

"Charge it to my room." He tells the man behind the counter, and leaves. He wanders around the hotel stores for a while and then heads up to his room. He lies on his bed staring up at the ceiling for what seems like forever. He changes again and finally ends up at a small club close to the hotel.

The atmosphere is stifling. There is smoke everywhere, the music is too loud and too bad, and none of the people there are the beautiful people he remembers from Metropolis. All he sees are tweaked-out club kids.

He decides to try his luck and heads out onto the dance floor. Bodies rub against him slickly, sweat droplets flying everywhere. He feels a hand grasp his wrist. It is a small girl, with straight black hair and a pixie face and a wild look in her eyes.

"Dance with me." She says. Something about her reminds him of Smiley, and he dances. "What's your name?" She asks dreamily, almost vacantly.

"Kal." He says. "What's yours?"

"I'm Vee." She gets closer and closer to him until they are almost grinding, and Clark can't tell if it's the crowd or just the girl that's driving them closer together. Her hips brush his and his cock begins to stir. The closer she gets, the more aroused he becomes. Finally their dance becomes a game of friction. Her goal seems to be to stimulate him, and he has no weapon against her. He wants it.

Suddenly she grabs his hands and pulls him over to the back of the club. They duck through a door and Clark finds a veritable orgy. There are people having sex everywhere in the dark, hazy room; partners of every kind. But he doesn't have time to ponder the intricacies of same-sex fucking, Vee has him pinned against a wall.

She's rubbing up against him, this time with even more of a purpose that on the dance floor, and he can't help but groan out loud. She giggles and then they flip. Her back is against the wall and she is pulling on him. Whispering crazy erotic things that he can barely hear let alone understand.

By the time Clark leaves the club, he glows with pride and a sense of accomplishment. He's proved to himself that he doesn't need Smiley to fuck him; now he knows she just got him started. He's so ready it's not even funny. Ready for what, he's not sure, but he's ready.

The next day Clark decided he has to throw his family off the scent, so he super-speeds over to Fargo and takes out another row of ATM's. By the time he gets back to his hotel in Gotham it's late, and he heads up to his room.

Every time he enters his room he feels a strange sense of disappointment to see Smiley's chain sitting unused on the spare bed, Smiley nowhere in sight.


	8. Arc 1 Ch8

I'm sure you've all noticed that the R rating has come into play in terms of sexual content and coarse language. This chapter contains some fairly graphic violence as well. Be warned, this chapter does push the envelope, and from now on most chapters are going to be pretty intense in all three respects.

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Clark walks down the street. He's already fucked and ditched two girls at two separate clubs, so when some punk approaches him asking if he wants some hot youngass he almost refuses. But when he looks down the alley the kid is pointing at he sees a familiar flash of black hair and combat boots.

He picks up the punk by the collar and walks calmly down the alley, ignoring the man's gurgling cries. As he nears the brick wall he sees her struggling with a larger man. Clark's sharp eyes pick out dark bruises under her eyes and a cut on her forehead. He lower lip looks a little swollen as well. Clark records this in a purely automatic fashion, and when the big guy finally notices him he turns to Clark and growls: "Back off, man. Wait your goddamn turn."

"I don't think so." Clark intones before throwing the choking man at the larger man. Hard. They fall away and Clark looks at them for a moment as they stared wide-eyed up at him. Moments later they are gone, and Clark goes to kneel beside Smiley's quivering body. Her eyes are glassy and distant and her breath seems to hang thickly in the air. She is breathing heavily and when Clark tries to get her attention she doesn't respond.

No matter what Clark does - yelling, snapping, slapping - She just stares straight ahead. So he lifts her over her shoulder and carries her back to the hotel.

In the room, he pushes her chain off the unused bed and tucks her in. She finally looks straight into his eyes and regains a little of her awareness. She goes to sleep.

Clark lies down next to her on top of the blanket and stares at her while stroking her face and hair. Then, without realising, he falls asleep as well.

In the morning, Clark wakes up first. His arm is wrapped around her and their faces are inches apart. He cringes and recoils quickly, almost falling off the bed. He starts his morning with a loud-voiced room servicecall for breakfast, and does nothing to muffle any of the noise he makes, but she doesn't stir.

Briefly he wonders in a strangely panic-filled moment if he crushed her ribs in the night. He stares at her for a long moment, unable to see the rise and fall of her chest, but then he looks inside and sees her beating heart, the barely perceptible push and pull of her lungs. He shakes his head angrily and forgets he ever worried.

The food arrives when he's in the shower, and when he gets out, he sees Smiley sitting at the table with a piece of toast between her fingers. It's buttered, but unbitten. She doesn't look at him as he pulls on some clothes and sits down across from her. He sets about eating in silence, and when he's done, he sits back and looks long and hard at her.

He waits.

It seems like ages. They sit in tight silence for a long time until Smiley clears her throat and Clark almost jumps. Smiley's piece of soggy, long-cold toast falls from her fingers, and she looks up at him.

"When I was here two years ago I met this guy. His name was Kyle. He said I could stay with him for a few days while I set myself up, but I ended up staying with him for a few months. So one night I went home and there were these three guys standing with him in the living room. He introduced us and told me that from then on I had to stay in the apartment at all times." She pauses. Coughs. Takes a sip of orange juice. "Basically, they had parties… Paid parties… With me as the main attraction."

Clark doesn't say anything and it appears she is finished. They sit in silence while he eats his eggs and bacon and toast, and drinks his coffee. Smiley doesn't touch any of the food on her plate and Clark doesn't try to make her.

When he finally stops eating he levels his gaze at her, taking in the damage in the light of day. She's an ugly mess now, with her eyes all bruised and red and her lower lip scabbing in the corner, as well as the cut on her forehead. He knows there are more bruises but he doesn't want to see them, doesn't even use his x-ray vision to peek under her clothes in search of damage.

He doesn't have a plan for the day yet, so he makes some decisive actions toward going out in the hopes that she won't stay in her dazed funk. He rustles around the room noisily, humming and moving things about. When he finally picks up his wallet and stuffs it in his back pocket, and she still hasn't moved, he turns to her. "Are you coming?" He asks, exasperated.

She slowly turns to look at him, and then gets up from the table. She dresses in a haze, putting on the clothes Clark hands her, and then, in a moment of what seems to be clarity, she picks up her chain from where it was lying on the floor. She holds it in her hands, weighing it, then begins to wrap it around her waist, securing it somehow. Clark watches her do it with a cool and detached eye, and doesn't say anything when she turns to him. She gives him a challenging look, the first real piece of her he's seen so far, and he turns, sure she'll follow.

As they get into the car, Smiley emits a little 'oh' of surprise when she finds her camera still lying on the floor. Clark had completely forgotten about it, and now he's glad, because he knows he would have crushed it if had remembered.

There is little conversation as they cruise the city. Before long, Clark finds himself surveying the area he found her in the night before. He thinks he sees someone familiar out of the corner of his eye and he pulls in to the nearest parking lot. He pulls a twenty from his pocket and hands it to Smiley. "Why don't you go into 7-11 and get us some coffee? And then come back here and lock the doors." She stares.

"What are you going to do?" She asks in little more than a whisper.

"I'll be back in about ten minutes." Clark gets out of the car and slams the door behind him. He stalks down the street, not looking back to see if she followed his instructions. At first he can't find what he's looking for, but narrowing his vision through the walls he sees a familiar skeleton.

With no regard to the lock on the door of the old apartment building, he enters, coming immediately face to face with three startled young men. He recognizes two of them from last night's attack, but the third he can't place.

"Shit! Kyle!" The immediate reaction of the smaller one is enough to know he's been recognized. The middle one steps forward.

"What the fuck, motherfucker?" The man named Kyle speaks very quickly, as though he's surprised at the intrusion and trying to overcome it. It reminds Clark of a small, yapping dog trying to scare away a larger, more dangerous dog. It almost makes him chuckle.

"What the fuck, motherfucker!" Clark mimics, advancing on the three men.

"Kyle! That's the guy who-" The kid's exclamation is cut off when Clark steps forward, grabs him by the neck, and crushes his windpipe. The larger man rushes forward, but with a sweeping motion Clark knocks him out of the way and the man makes a large dent in the wall. Meanwhile, Kyle stands in the middle of the apartment hallway looking somewhat lost; shock visible in the slack of his jaw and the bulge of his eyes.

Clark moves quickly, knocking Kyle to the floor. Clark bends over him, his knees on Kyle's shoulders. When he is certain Kyle can't move, he begins hitting the other man's head against the cement of the floor. He bangs it lightly at first, but gradually the hitting grows harder and harder. Kyle begins to cry out.

Two minutes later, Clark exits the building, wiping the brain matter and blood from his hands with a ripped t-shirt. He's surprised no one found them in the apartment lobby, but he notices the way certain people look at him as he walks back to the car. He stares at one particularly large and threatening-looking group standing in a doorway and carelessly throws the shirt to the ground. One of the men nods his head almost in greeting; some kind of acceptance. Clark doesn't nod back, but he sends a silent message with his eyes: You know what I've done, so don't fuck with me.


	9. Arc 1 Ch9

I hit a rough spell there for a while, what with feeling incredibly demoralized by the lack of feedback, but I'm finally back with some new chapters. I'm not sure how many people have been reading this since I've only gotten, what, ten reviews? This is something I just don't understand. I guess I should say something about only writing for myself, but who posts on here and doesn't expect some kind of intelligent response. Tips, things you like, things you don't like, inaccuracies in canon details, I would LOVE to hear about this stuff! sigh here's another chapter for my. . . 7 readers.

Again, I must warn you about the graphic language in this chapter, and the sexual content.

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When Clark returns to the car, Smiley is white as a sheet. She holds a styrofoam cup in each hand, and Clark gratefully accepts the one she passes to him. He takes a sip, ignoring the burn going down his throat, and starts up the car.

"What happened?" It is almost a whisper. The words hiss out of her mouth like a snakeand the look of panic on her face alerts him that she's deathly afraid.

"Nothing. I just had to deal with some stuff."

"What did you do to them?"

Clark hears a click in his brain and can almost read the words on a scrolling line of concious thoughtas he thinks them: She's smarter than I thought.

He doesn't say anything for a full five minutes, just sits there in the car and sips his too hot too bittercoffee. He hears something. A siren. It's distant. He starts up the car and hands her his unfinished cup.

"Let's just say they're not going to be having any more private parties." There is silence in the car as he turns down a side street, headed away from the sirens. He looks over at her face and she is pale, staring out the window at the people on the sidewalk. She fingers her camera.

"Hey." He says, reaching over to take one hand in his. She looks down and sees the red under his nails.

"Oh." She thrusts his hand away and begins scrabbling frantically for the door. Clark stops with a screech as she tears the door open and jumps out, headed for the nearest alley. Clark swears and leaves the car running where it is. He follows her, and finds her crouching behind a garbage bin.

At first he thinks she's hiding from him, but then he hears a retch and a sob. He leans against the wall behind her and waits. Smiley throws up until there's nothing left and even then she can't stop the dry heave, bringing up stomach acid and nothing else.

Finally she finishes, and pulls herself upright, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. She looks sideways at Clark and her face crumples. He takes a step forward and she takes a step back but hits the wall. When he takes another step she flees.

She maybe gets five steps away before Clark has her by the arm, spinning her around to face him and pulling her close. He doesn't know why he continues to hold her as she hits him and struggles and sobs strange, unintelligible words that sound something like 'no' and 'God'. Slowly her protests and cries grow softer, and finally it's all over. She no longer tries to run.

A certain desperate peace settles around them in a heavy, heady quiet. For a moment, the rest of the world falls away in a grey blur, leaving only Clark and Smiley.

Suddenly needing to regain control over the situation, Clark pushes Smiley away and pulls a pack of gum out of his back pocket. "Here." He says. "Chew this. You stink." He turns and strides back to the car, leaving her standing in the alley.

He gets in and she's there, sitting in the passenger seat. She doesn't look at him; her face is cold and drawn. She looks older the she should, Clark thinks.

The day is pretty much shot for anything, any other plans he may have had, so Clark heads back to the hotel.

When they return, she goes into the bathroom and shuts the door. Clark checks on her periodically with his x-ray vision but she doesn't seem to slitting her wrists or ingesting large quantities of pills or drowning herself in the toilet, so he figures she's fine. He has some idea of how he would deal with his own feelings, but he doubts she would appreciate being fucked senseless by the man who she knew had just killed three people.

Not that he cared or anything. . .

But finally after almost two and a half hours he gets impatient.

"I need to clean up!" He hollers. "In the shower!" Reluctantly, she exits her tiny sanctuary, and they both ignore the tear tracks. When Clark tries to brush past her in the aim of showering and getting all the remaining blood out of his hair and fingernails she catches him. She grabs him viciously and grinds her hips into his.

"Fuck me." She says, with passion. "God, Kal. Just- fuck me!"

Clark can't help but acquiesce.

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They while away the afternoon in bed, and when Clark finally has to get up to take a shower Smiley goes with him, clinging to him. He doesn't really mind all that much.

After they've showered, Smiley puts on one of the fluffy white hotel robes and opens the curtains. The fading sunlight illuminates her pale skin, making it seem more golden than it really is.

"Kal." She begins tentatively, and Clark barely grunts at her. "Can I photograph you?" She smiles at him and picks up the camera from where she left it earlier on the table.

Clark looks at her. "Sure, baby." He pulls open his robe, revealing both the scar on his chest and his half-hard penis. He watches her grin and he offers to move somewhere better.

"No, just there is good." Clark just watches her go from angle to angle, clicking and rewinding and repeating the process. She seems to almost zone out, not giving him any instruction or feedback. She looks beautiful to him. He sees something in her that he didn't see before. It's not in the way her robe hangs half-open or the way her hair dries into shiny black ringlets. It's not in the way she fucks.

It's something else. Something good. Something he can't quite pinpoint, but knows it should scare him and drive him away. It should, because it feels so good, but it only makes him want her more. Blindly.

The second the film runs out Clark pulls her down on top of him. She starts wiggling against him but he stills her, and rubs her back, and just_ feels._


	10. Arc 1 Ch10

Please, my story has not been beta-read, so I would appreciate it if you could point out any errors-spelling, grammar, or otherwise-in a review so I can fix them.

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Later, when Smiley is asleep and the night is deepening, Clark sits, smoking at the table in the corner of the room. He decided long ago to blame the moonlight streaming through the windows for his lack of sleep. He ignores the niggling thought of just closing the curtains. He prefers standing and smoking.

Searching though his memory, no purchase of smokes registers, so he supposes Smiley must have bought them. He doesn't take the time contemplate their origin; he just keeps on puffing. Eventually he decides to open a window.

Opening the window also opens the hotel room to any number of outside sounds, the most prevalent of which are the groan and growl of car engines and the irritating honking. People on the street are yelling things, mostly obscene, at each other, and Clark thinks he might hear thunder, but he can't be sure. He sharpens his hearing, but there is nothing there.

He doesn't sleep at all.

Smiley finds him standing there when she wakes, her black hair haloing her face like some dark or fallen angel. The dawning sun illuminates her pale skin and turns the bruises and sunken places into soft shadows. He stares at her, unseeing for a long moment as she comes to stand next to him.

"Did you get any sleep, Kal?"

He doesn't answer, deciding to just ignore the probing tone. He just basks in her serenity. She seems peaceful, at ease. She doesn't press him like he knows she wants to, but he can still feel the concern slipping from her lips and radiating around them without her having to say anything. It makes him feel strangely warm.

They stand there, watching the sun rise through the hotel room window. When Clark turns away, he bumps into the table. "Fuck!" He almost-yells. "I'm fucking sick of this goddamn room!" He swings his hand to knock the table over, but sees Smiley's camera sitting there, glinting in the light. Instead he settles on slamming his fist into his hand and gathering up his stuff. "Pack your shit." He orders, and doesn't wait to see if Smiley complies. He throws his packed bag on the bed and storms out the door, telling Smiley to wait for him there.

When he returns, she's sitting on the bed. Her face is grim, and her lips are stretched thin over her face. "Let's go." He says. He picks up his bag and looks around for hers, but there is none to be found. "Where's your bag?"

"I didn't have one so I packed my stuff in yours."

Clark looks at the black duffel, hoisting it into the air a couple times to gauge the weight. "Alright."

They leave, hurrying down the hall and into the elevator. Clark is careful not to crack the glass elevator button when he presses 1. When they get to the car, Clark pulls fast, probably too fast, out of the parking lot and onto the street. He drives with purpose, up this street and down that one, winding through traffic like driving in Gotham is old hat. They stop in front of a tall, old building, covered with gargoyles and looking very dark.

"Wow, this is gorgeous. I love gothic architecture." Smiley says. Clark looks at her incredulously. "What? I'm not completely uneducated. This stuff is a photographer's dream!"

He raises his eyebrows and gets out of the car.

A doorman opens the door for them and Clark watches Smiley's reaction as they enter the lobby. There is a receptionist sitting behind a counter who watches them closely as they approach the desk.

"Can I help you?" She asks. She's a very pretty young woman, maybe twenty years old. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a low ponytail and her wide blue eyes are alert and attentive.

"You must be Claire." Clark smiles disarmingly. "We spoke on the phone."

"Kal?" Her face lights up as she gives him the once-over and extends her hand. He shakes it and holds it a second longer than necessary, looking her dead in the eye. When he pulled away she was visibly flustered. "It's so wonderful to meet you!" She begins fretting about her desk, pushing aside papers and looking in drawers. "Of course, we didn't expect you so soon."

"I like to do things right, Claire. It's just impolite to leave someone waiting." He says it in his smarmiest voice, amused by the echo of Lionel Luthor he could hear in his tone. Of course she doesn't notice anything amiss.

"Of course." She giggles almost nervously, and finally looks down at what she's doing. "Oh!" She cries, and picks up a form from where it lies, right on the top of the pile. She hands it to him and he looks at it for a moment.

"Can I have a pen?" He asks snarkily.

"Of course!" She squeaks and pulls a pen out the pile. "You just need to sign here- and here- and we need this in formation in this box here." She outlines the box with her pen and then hands it to him. Clark hands it to Smiley.

"You have to do it." He says, sliding the form over to her.

She looks confused, but does what he says, writing her full name and vital statistics. When it comes to previous address she looks up at Clark. He sees where she is and turns to the girl. "We've been living in hotels for the past little while."

Claire looks at him dazedly. "Um. You can just leave that blank, then."

Clark grins all the way through the surprisingly short ordeal, and Claire hands him a shiny silver key with a tag attached.

He hurries Smiley up six flights of stairs, and she has to pause for breath at the top. Clark watches her heave for breath, hands on her knees. She looks up at him. "Jesus Christ." She says, somewhat reproachfully. "You're not even winded."

"I always eat my Wheaties." He replies, and then takes hold of her elbow, pulling her down the hall. They stop on front of a nondescript door. It looks identical to all the other doors running through the hallway. Its brown paint peels slightly at the edges, and around the door number: 611.

Clark slides the key easily into the lock and turns it, opening the door with a flourish.

He watches Smiley step into the honey brown environment. It is the antithesis of everything he had in Metropolis. All polished wood and soft sunlight and huge, plush sofas and chairs. He watches her ooh and aah over the view and the space and him for a few minutes.

"Is this ours?" She asks him with wide, happy eyes.

"It's yours." He says. Her eyes widen a little and she goes back to exploring.

He's not doing it for her, that's for sure. He's doing it so they can live somewhere comfortable and he doesn't have to deal with putting his name down in print or the hassle of a fake ID. That's all.


	11. Arc 1 Ch11

AN: Sorry it's been so long since my last update. School has been taking its toll on me and my health, but thank god it's almost over! Two and a half weeks left!

This chapter is fairly fast paced, and I'm not entirely happy with the way it turned out ie: the story development is too swift. All this will be fixed when I finally upload each chapter to LJ.

I'd just like to thank everyone for the lovely reviews. I know I was a little bit ungrateful, but I really do appreciate every comment. And a special thank you to everyone who agreed with my portrayal of Clark on redK, you have no idea how much I needed that. Thank you all so much!

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Clark knows about living comfortably, and he knows that he's not really happy that way. Sure, he wants things, material things, but he doesn't want to sit around the apartment all day looking at his stuff. He wants excitement and action and danger. All at the same time if possible. And he wants Smiley to want those things too, because it's more fun when you have someone to share the thrill with.

Clark tries to content himself with the strangely domestic life he seems to have helped to create here in Gotham. He revels in the oddity of it all, pretending for a short while that he is normal.

Or as normal as a murderous alien from outer space can really be.

He spends at least two days with Smiley just fucking and eating and being generally lazy, and he loves it. But by the beginning of the third day it all begins to wear thin. He craves the adrenaline rush of doing the wrong thing all the time, and by the end of the fourth day he has made up his mind.

Smiley doesn't ask where the black clothes and balaclavas came from, and she doesn't ask where they're going when he hustles her out the back way to the car. It's only when they reach their destination that she looks at him beseechingly.

"When we get inside, an alarm might go off. I need you to hold this." He hands her a gleaming black gun. She takes it with a shaking hand and her pulls her balaclava up to kiss her. Her whole body is shaking. "It's going to be fine." He tells her. "It's going to be great."

They're parked in an alley beside the bank. He knows he can't make the same huge scenes he did in Metropolis and he can't really do anything an ordinary man wouldn't be able to. He's learning to be more cautious with his powers. He has to be if he wants to stay undetected. He doesn't know who, if anyone, is looking for him, but he suspects at least Martha and Jonathan, if the confrontation in Metropolis showed any indication.

The thought doesn't warm his heart. He knows how close the weaker Clark came to winning that night and he's vowed not to let it come that close ever again.

A missed step brings him back to the present. He looks down and makes sure he doesn't trip again, and follows stealthily behind Smiley. They reach the corner and Clark stops them before rounding it. He peers through the brick and sees one security camera set up above the door. "Wait." He takes her wrist and pulls out ahead of her. He sticks his hand into the back of his pants and pulls out another black gun, this one with a long tube attached to the end. He puts his arm around the corner and, with his x-ray vision, aims and fires.

The silencer works like a charm, and the camera is in smithereens on the ground. Their steps crackle with broken glass and plastic as they approach the rear door. Clark shoots the locked knob off and they step inside. There is no one there to confront them, so they're safe for a moment. Smiley stays silent and Clark leads them through a series of rooms and hallways until they reach the correct hall. She doesn't question his ability to know exactly where they're going, and he doesn't tell her about x-ray vision.

As they round a corner they are confronted two armed guards who immediately spring to action, calling; "Hey! Stop! Who are you?"

When Clark doesn't answer they cock their pistols, seeing the guns in both Clark's and Smiley's hands. Clark pushes his small sidekick behind him, holding tightly onto her arm. As they continue to advance, the guards continue to shout warnings until it's clear they aren't being heeded. They open fire.

Below the loud spatter of security gunfire, the cries of the guards, and the short, sharp bursts of his own gun, he hears a stuttered half-moan. He loosens his hold on Smiley's arm and makes two kill shots in rapid succession. The two men slump to the floor, but he ignores them, instead turning to look at Smiley.

She's uninjured as far as his cursory glance tells him, but she stares up at him with huge, black, round cow eyes. "Stay here." He tells her, and takes the short walk down the hall, stepping over the men on the floor and walking up to the safe. He doesn't look back at Smiley when he peels back the thick steel of the vault door and steps inside.

Everything after that moment happens very quickly. He's stuffing the contents of many a safety deposit box into his large black duffel bag, when he hears two shots from the hall. He doesn't pause, however, knowing that either someone will be coming in to ineffectually try to shoot him, or Smiley has just taken someone down. After a few moments of pretending not to care, his entire body relaxes, and he finishes up with his loading.

When Clark steps into the hall he is confronted with a very odd sight.

Smiley is standing in the middle of the hall, another guard lying on his back just in front of her, obviously either dead or seriously wounded. Her hands are still gripping the gun tightly in front of her, pointed at some shadow at the end of the hallway. The lights closest to him are still burning bright, but from Smiley to the end of the long hallway the lights have been extinguished.

"Smiley-" Clark begins, stepping forward. At the same time another man steps forward. He's dressed all in shiny black, wearing a cape and a mask adorned with what can only be described as bat-like ears protruding from the top.

"Put the gun down." He orders in a strong, commanding voice.

"Who the hell are you?" Clark asks him, anger and a faint fear stirring inside him.

"Batman." Smiley says with a tremulous voice. She looks remarkably absurd standing there. She's so petite that there is nothing intimidating about her; not even the gun in her shaking hand.

The Batman takes a step forward. "Stop right there." She says, but he ignores her command and continues to move slowly toward her, murmuring things Clark can't hear without his super-hearing.

"Don't listen to a word he says." Clark says, getting the gist of the strange man's purpose. "He's going to try to take us to prison." He scoffs at that.

The man in black keeps advancing on Smiley. "Stay back." She says more forcefully, continuing her warnings with a more panicked note in her voice. "Stay back, I said!" Clark can tell she's working herself into a panic, and he waits to see what she'll do. If she'll give in to the Batman's persistence or retaliate.

He's given his answer as Smiley screams: "I told you to get back!" Her hands are shaking so hard Clark can't tell if the gunfire is on purpose or if it's accidental, but he likes to think it was deliberate. Batman grunts as he falls back, and Clark takes the opportunity to grab his girl and run. They get outside in a shock of air and run-normal speed- to the car.

The strange man isn't chasing them. He hopes Smiley was dazed enough to not have noticed the super speed he used to get by the Batman, and also hopes her shots were enough to put him out of whatever deranged misery he must have been in to dress up like a bat and confront a couple of bank robbers.


	12. Arc 1 Ch12

AN: I understand that some people have had a fairly negative reaction to my introduction of Batman in the last chapter. Unfortunately, Bruce Wayne plays a small but very important part in this story. For those of you who hated it, I'm sorry to say you'll be seeing a bit more of both Batman and Bruce in coming chapters.

Luckily, in comparison to the actual length of the story, he'll be playing a miniscule role.

That said, enjoy the new chapter:)

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The next day, Smiley goes out to check her P.O. box for the modelling cheque. She hasn't said much of anything to Clark since they fled the scene, and Clark is getting a little frustrated. She didn't refuse him when he took her to bed, but it's something he doesn't feel comfortable gauging her emotions on. He remembers the frozen fear she exuded when confronted with the death of her attackers, but this is more along the lines of anger and maybe irritation.

Her face seemed set in stone when he asked her what she wanted to do over breakfast. His questions are a concession he hates to make, but she's no fun this way. He had to drag her destination out of her, and he held his tongue when he wanted to ask about the man she shot in the bank. He resolves not to think about it anymore, instead, he confronts the problem of imminent boredom.

He turns on the radio, but he can't find anything but the same meaningless snivelling pop and rock they spouted off in Smallville and Metropolis, so he switches it off. He goes to the kitchen, but there is nothing but the leftover bagels and cream cheese Smiley picked up for breakfast, and he's not really hungry anyway. He finally decides to watch TV, so he flops down on the couch and flicks it on.

A reported appears on the screen, clearly in a helicopter. There are other helicopters hovering in the air in the background. She's shouting something into her microphone, but he's not interested in whatever disaster is happening. He changes the channel, but no matter what channel he goes to, he's faced with the white, painted faces of reporters acting serious through the whipping wind and chopper noise. Something catches his eyes, though, as he's flipping through the channels, a flash of familiar colour and shape.

"-a rescue 'copter arrived on the scene only three hours after he was found, and we're here with the man who discovered him. This is Mumba Mochama." The reported holds her microphone out to the tall black man in colourful clothes. He looks excited, and eager to speak with her. "Mr. Mochama, How exactly did you find Lex Luthor?"

"Well, my wife and I had arrived on the island two days before, and I was exploring a bit! The man told me the island was completely uninhabited! Of course when I saw him lying on the beach I was completely shocked! Then I called the coast guard right away!" Clark feels sick. The man continues to answer questions with obvious relish, and Clark can't do anything but stare. He at once is filled with a smoking rage, and he's not sure if he's angry with himself or Lex or the man on the TV.

A rain of fire seems to fall on his chest almost instantly, and he screams in pain, ripping open his shirt to reveal the scar that had disappeared almost immediately after the last attack. It's glowing; a blinding red, and he can't do anything but writhe on the floor, trying to soak up the cool of the wood panelling. As he wrenches the ring off his finger, he feels a soothing balm cover his chest before everything goes black.

When he wakes up, the same news broadcast is still on, The same reported is telling her enthralled viewers that they'll soon be meeting an expert who's going to tell them how exactly he could manage to survive. Clark stares up at the ceiling, letting the sounds of the TV and the street wash over him. He's a jumble of nerves and fears. It seems like the longer he wears the ring, the harder it is to think about going back to Smallville. Or calling home.

So he just keeps staring at the ceiling, counting the stucco points and thinking about nothing. He looks over at the ring, feeling the urge to put it on no matter the pain it might bring him. He wants to take the relief and deal with the guilt later. He steadfastly refuses to think of the robbery. . . And the guards. Instead of the usual agony of despair that always seems to swallow him after he's taken the ring off he feels a steady, thrumming numbness that reverberates through his whole body.

If he thinks about it, it's not such a chore to just put the ring back on. He doesn't even feel the urge to phone home, although he does want to know how Lex is doing. He wishes they had had shown footage of him on TV, shown that he was OK.

Getting up, he leaves the ring lying on the floor, ignores it. He crosses the room and walks past the phone. He leaves the apartment, not even bothering to lock the door on his way out. Claire calls out a greeting from the front desk, but he doesn't reply. He's not sure he could speak if his life depended on it. He feels strangely detached from it all, as though he were floating above the city, watching all the people walking around

He killed two men. Two men. Men who probably had families to go home to, and futures. They were gone forever. The thought doesn't affect him the way he expected. For the first time in over three months he stumbles on a crack in the sidewalk, knocking into someone and jostling a hot cup of coffee. He doesn't really even notice, just keeps walking. Clark walks and walks for a long time.

When he finally stops he doesn't really know where he is. The sounds of the city are long gone, and he is surrounded by farmland, and the quiet is too close to Kansas to really be a comfort.

She sits on the bathroom counter with her forehead resting against the mirror. Her mouth is stretched in nearly silent, gasping sobs. Her eyes are a flood of saltwater and makeup, and the tears and mascara stream down her face. She is the very picture of a broken heart and Clark feels her in his soul. He feels every clench of fists and every hitched breath as if it were his own.

She doesn't see him right away, but when she does, she immediately stops crying. It is through some enormous strength that, although her chin wobbles and her lips purse and she takes a few final gasps, she rubs away the tears and they stop coming. But this is the very, very last thing Clark wants. So he scoops her up in his arms and holds her, whispering nothing and everything into her ear and carrying her to the bedroom. He places her gently on the bed and realises that somewhere along the way she has started to cry again.

She tries to hide her face as he lies down next to her, but he doesn't let her. He looks into her eyes and sees a deep sadness in her, the same sadness he sees in himself, and he pulls her to him. He holds her and breathes with her and before he knows it he's crying with her too.

It's not long before Smiley is sound asleep. Clark can do nothing but lie there, curled into her, staring into the darkness.


	13. Arc 1 Ch13

AN: Sorry this took so long, I have a terrible habit of NEVER FINISHING ANYTHING, but I've made a pledge to finish this fic, no matter what it takes. Even though I can't stand to watch Smallville anymore. It's not that I don't love it anymore, it's just that I can't stand to see Lex and Clark grow apart. I've gotta say, no matter what I write in my fics, I am a hardcore Clex shipper and it hurts to watch my dreams crumble :P So this will very likely be the last and only Smallville fic I ever post. Luckily I've got a couple others on the way, in other fandoms.

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The days in Gotham are slowly getting cooler. Leaves turn and dark comes sooner every day, and Clark and Smiley live in relative peace. Smiley's golden brown roots begin to show and she doesn't dye them, and Clark takes that as a good sign. He doesn't put the ring back on; instead, it rests innocuously in a small lead box in the back of the freezer.

Clark spends a lot of time thinking about his life before and during the ring. There is a small terrace leading out from their bedroom, and he sits there. Sometimes Smiley appears with two big mugs of tea or cocoa and sits with him, but as the seasons turn the wind from the harbour brings a chill that she can't stand for long.

They talk more and fuck more, and she smiles more since Clark removed the ring. Clark hopes it was for the best, because he can see the good in Smiley, he can see the slow but steady change in her demeanour and self-esteem. But Clark remembers the rushes and highs he would get from the ring. He remembers the feeling or power and lack of guilt and tries to balance it with the good things he's experienced since he put the ring away.

He hasn't attempted to call anyone because he feels certain that he would be commanded to do the same thing by anyone he spoke to: come home immediately! He doesn't want to go home; he can feel the heavy stares and fingers of suffocating guilt straining across the country just to wrap him in their tendrils. He sometimes wonders about (notmomanddadnotmomanddad) Martha and Jonathan. When he last saw Jonathan he seemed angry with Clark, but also very sad.

I caused that, he thinks. He can almost see Martha crying in the barn, Jonathan trying his best to be strong. He knows that his hope that they will be okay is futile.

Some nights he wakes up to Smiley's gentle shaking, and her soft voice telling him he was screaming. Most nights he sleeps as little as possible. He stares into the darkness and his brain concocts vivid fantasies of monsters and demons coming out of the shadows to carry him down to hell where he belongs.

He doesn't feel sixteen.

He's stopped reading the newspapers. They don't print stories about his bank robbery or Lex's return anymore, but he can't bring himself to pick one up. He's afraid there will be something that compels him to go home. Or maybe he's afraid of seeing something to remind him he doesn't belong here. Maybe he'll see Lex's smirking face looking up from the front page. Maybe he'll see nothing at all, and that's what scares him the most.

Maybe the world will have gone on without him, and no one will remember him except to say: Clark Kent? Wasn't he the kid who ran away a while back?

He'll be a distant memory. Which is the way it should be, maybe, but not the way he wants it anymore.

Clark hates going out. Smiley is a party animal; she loves going out and dancing the night away, and most nights Clark ends up going with her, if only to make sure she gets home safe. He's made her his first priority now. She's the one he has to take care of, and most days he's up to the challenge. It's best if he has something to focus on to keep his mind off of everything else, and Smiley serves that purpose.

At times like this, when the moonlight is filtering through the curtains and Smiley is fast asleep beside him and her breathing starts to link up with his. . . There's nothing to match it.

There's something about calm, cool autumn nights that Clark never noticed before. Perhaps it's because things are so different in Gotham. In Kansas (which Clark can only bear to think about at times like this when nothing can touch him and everything seems okay) he didn't spend many nights lying awake, in fact he rarely stayed up later than 11PM. Sometimes he wishes there was someone with him to soothe away his bad dreams and fears, but he knows if there were he wouldn't be able to appreciate moments like these as much as he does.

And anyway, Clark is different in the city. In the country, if something went wrong, he knew about it right away. This meant that he could run off to save the day every time. But in the city there's something going on every minute, the sounds of the hurt and the violence could swallow him whole and spit him out and make him crazy.

The ring took all that away, unless he was really looking for trouble. The part of Clark that was filled with self-doubt and loathing, and wanted to shrivel up and die could usually be pushed aside. The part that replaced it was more confident and self-assured. The new Clark could do anything, be anything. The new Clark could launder money in seven different states without breaking a sweat. The new Clark could tune out the voices, the screaming, the crying forever, unless he was looking for trouble.

Clark remembers himself before he donned the red ring as a child. Eager to please and help others. Never serving himself. There's something about the way he was that makes Clark cringe. He hates that he was so desperate for human touch and human love that he tried to get it from everyone. He hates that the old Clark couldn't make the tough choices.

The old Clark would have gone running home the minute that ring was off, with no thought to Smiley or the trouble he put her through. He stirs restlessly at the thought of leaving her.

"Baby. . ." Smiley stirs and turns, her hand sliding over his bare chest and pulling him closer. The touch calms him instantly. "Go to sleep." Clark settles and closes his eyes, but stays awake.

There's nothing in his mind right now, and to him that's almost as good as a long and uninterrupted sleep.

When Clark wakes in the morning it is with lethargic surprise; both that he slept, and that Smiley left the bed without waking him. But he relishes the morning with unusual languor, coming to full consciousness slowly and lazily, stretching and flexing until his body feels awake enough to finally rise from the bed.

Clark finds Smiley in the kitchen. Her sunset lips are half open, and her cheeks are flushed. Her eyes are blank, and a slight frown creases her brow.

"Smiley." He says her name twice more before her eyes refocus and she swallows.

"Kal." She says. "I just saw you on TV." She gestures to the small set on the counter, where a morning talk show was just beginning. "It said you were missing. It said your name was Clark. And you're only sixteen years old." Her voice is breathy, like she's in shock.

Clark freezes, and the canned laughter from the television is directed at him, and her tears are drowning him, and the air is suffocating him and everything is ending and dammitsomeone's finally decided he just can't_ignore_ everything anymore.


	14. Arc 1 Ch14

Just because you know one thing about a person doesn't mean you know everything.

Clark may have agonized with worry about being recognized night after night, but he never considered the possibility that Smiley would be the one to recognize him. That she would stand there in the kitchen and say 'why didn't you tell me' with open eyes, eyes more open than anything.

And he can't say a word. He sees the betrayal in her eyes and no amount of pleading or reasoning or explaining will wipe it away. No amount of tears will clear the clouds from her brow. This moment will never end. They will stand like this forever, his hand frozen on her hip, her lips parted, both of them striking a perfectly dramatic pose.

But then it _does_ end, and Clark wishes it never had because Smiley is asking him. Why? Why didn't you tell me? And she strokes his face like everything is going to be alright, and she even _whispers_ it in his ear. Like he's some kind of spooked animal ready to run at a moment's notice.

Although he is. Ready to run, that is. At the first sign of danger he is outta here like he never existed. Thoughts are racing through his head: The apartment is in her name, she has enough money to last her until she gets a job, and even if she didn't he could still look after her without her knowledge.

But then she pulls him into a hug, and it's like she's squeezing the words right out of him. They begin inching out between his lips at a torturous pace, and the going isn't quick but it's unstoppable. He tells her everything.

Maybe it's the amount of drugs Smiley's ingested, but miraculously, she believes every word. She soaks it up and her eyes shine with some unknown flare and her body seems to crackle with excitement. When the words finally stop flowing Smiley just leads him to the bed and they lie there together. Everything's in the open now, and whether it crumbles or carries on regardless is up to Smiley now.

They don't lie in bed for long. Clark strokes Smiley's arm and then Smiley kisses Clark, and soon they are naked and breathless and all the wrong kind of drama is gone for a short while.

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The streets are black glass under the shine of the streetlights and the pouring rain. Every so often lightning flashes across the sky, illuminating everything as though it were day. The trees that flank the road are old and tall, and their branches meet in the middle to form a shadowy arc over the road.

There is no thunder, or at least nothing audible. Clark can't hear any of the normal city sounds over the pounding of the rain and his own pounding heartbeat. He feels pinpricks of cold on his skin, sees the goose bumps slowly begin to rise on his arms and the fog of his breath all around him.

There are no people around, neither in the streets nor in the surrounding buildings. Clark doesn't even consider the fact that that's a little odd. He barely even notices the lack of life around him. He doesn't know what do so he just stands there, staring out between the monolithic skyscrapers at a muddied, blurred ocean.

Slowly, the ocean recedes, or his vision does. The rain falls harder, coming down in sheets, biting mercilessly into his body and eating away at the city. Steam rises from the streets as the water begins to grow acidic. Clark feels the burn to his arms and scalp, and thinks 'I have to get out of here!' He picks a direction and starts running, but his shoes and clothing begins to melt away until he is running naked through the deserted streets of Gotham city.

His super-speed won't kick in, and every raindrop feels like a tiny needle shoved into through skin and muscle to hit bone. His whole body aches but he keeps on running. The doors of all the building are locked, and the longer he can't get out of the rain the weaker he feels.

Clark hears something. He stops running and cocks his head and tries to ignore the aching in his body. He doesn't know how he can hear it over the pounding of the rain, but there it is: the sound of someone's panicked breathing. It seems like it's echoing off the walls of a small metal room.

The sound leads him to the First National Gotham City Bank. The door is wide open and shining with a warm and welcome light, almost as though it's drawing him in. Clark takes the invitation and is quickly inside.

Almost immediately after getting out of the rain he can feel his strength returning, and the strange breathing echoes off the walls of the cavernous, marbled monument, not louder, but clearer. He avoids the places where the rain has eaten through the granite and marble, slips between puddles and mini-downpours, and heads to the back of the bank.

He breaks through a door marked in bold 'EMPLOYEES ONLY' and knows he's going in the right direction. He's through the door and down the hall, moving through a seemingly endless maze of glaringly white corridors until he rounds a corner and stops short at what he sees.

Standing before him about halfway down the hall stand four men, shoulder to shoulder. Three of them wear a familiar uniform; black with a navy stripe up the leg and silver buttons on the jacket that reminds him of the doorman in the building where he lives. The last, standing on the far left, wears an expensive-looking suit and tie, and a maddening smirk on his face. He turns and walks down the hall in the direction of the breathing, leaving the three guards standing there, staring.

The men don't move, don't say a word as Clark approaches them, and the closer he gets, the more familiar they are. He can see the gaping holes where his bullets ripped through their bodies, and the bloody mess that he never really had the chance to examine where Smiley shot the third guard right in the face. He peers past them and sees pools of blood where he vaguely remembers they fell when they were shot. They look a little swirled about, and he can see footprints leading from the blood to where they stand now.

Clark falters for a moment, unable to look at any of them any longer. A tense pain wells up inside him, one he recognizes as guilt. It pounds in his chest stronger even than the beating of his own heart, and finally he can't take in anymore. He looks up and starts forward. He pushes past the guards with little resistance and shakes away their grasping hands as, at once, they fall to the floor. He braces himself for the mysterious fourth man, but he is nowhere to be seen.

The door to the vault is open a sliver, and the harsh breathing echoes inside. When Clark tries to open the thick metal door further, his strength is taxed to the limit, and he is barely ably to open it enough to slip through. When he finally squeezes himself through the small opening he has a chance to take in his surroundings and is surprised. The vault is much bigger than he remembers. There are several metal tables that fill most of the long room, safe deposit boxes that line two walls, and stacks of cash line the other two. Clark has no interest in any of this.

He walks to the corner or the room and looks down the length of the room between the table and the wall, and sees a body. Or rather, the edge of one. The breathing gets harsher and more erratic the closer he gets to it, but that doesn't stop him. He can see bare skin, blistered, burned and scarred.

It is Lex.

Lex, whose empty eyes shift up to Clark's and fill with relief and joy and so many things Clark can't keep track of them all. Who, despite the pain he is clearly in, breaks out an unstoppable grin upon sight. The one person in the world who will do anything for Clark. Lex, whose breathing immediately calms and regulates.

Suddenly exhausted, he sits down next to Lex, who pulls him into a desperate, tight embrace.

"I thought I had lost you." He says with a broken, unused voice, and Clark's heart fills at the pain that he's caused.

"I'm sorry." He whispers into Lex's shirt. "I'm so sorry."


	15. Arc 1 Ch15

Hi everyone! YAY! A new chapter! This chapter was really hard to write; I've had this terrible mental block since I wrote the last chapter. I got halfway through and I couldn't go any further. I wound up rewriting the entire thing almost completely, and here it is. I'm not happy with the finished product, but it will serve as a bridge to the next installment of the story.

So enjoy, and don't forget to review!

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Clark wakes up cold. Smiley's breath whispers across the pillow and into his ear, and for one crazy instant Clark wants to just smother her. Kill her, so that there are no witnesses to what he's done. Crush her like he wants to crush the guilt that boils and festers inside him. He wants to hurt her so bad he can almost taste it.

She shifts and the spell breaks, and the guilt seems to grow and seethe and writhe in him. He rolls out of her loose embrace and lands, feet planted, on the cool wooden floor. He's woken up this way far too many times, and it's something he's getting tired of.

The lights in the kitchen are off, and he doesn't bother to turn them on. The light from the open fridge door is all the illumination he needs.

Clark pulls out a bottle of water and chugs it. He contemplates pouring the dregs over his head, but stops himself; that's something Kal would do. Something inside him scoffs that he's worried about the floor getting wet after everything else he's done, but Clark can't let that kind of thinking overpower his though processes ever again.

It's been four weeks since his harrowing confession, four weeks in which Clark waited tensely for the other shoe to drop. He's been waiting for a calling-out from Smiley that he knows now will never come.

He tells himself he can be free from the guilt and the shame, but he knows, even if Smiley gives him all the absolution she can afford, he'll never be free of it. He knows, better than anyone, that the part of him that he hates doesn't live inside of the red rock, it lives inside him. It's always been there and there it will remain.

One glance at the clock on the microwave and Clark grimaces. 4:49. Too late to go back to bed, too early to wake Smiley.

He takes a seat at the picture window in the living room, staring out at the sleeping city. Of course, as they say, Gotham never sleeps. There are taxicabs puttering through the streets and newspapers being delivered and billboard ads being changed. The sun has not yet risen, and he won't be able to see it peek over the concrete horizon for at least another hour and a half.

That short time will give him time to think about the coming day. Clark has decided that something must be done; he can't keep living his life in constant fear and incessant guilt.

Reflecting on everything that has happened in Gotham since he and arrived, Clark comes to one conclusion. Everything seems to revolve around Smiley. Each separate incident-the modelling, the murder, the bank robbery, the apartment-leads Clark back to the same thing, and he's never felt more like a child. There's something absolutely terrifying about falling in love for the first time, and Clark hasn't done it in any normal way, either.

He knows, beyond a doubt, that there is only one avenue for him to take. There is only one possibility, and it is one he contemplates with more than a little dread. The thought of leaving Smiley is—unbearable, but Clark has to face up to his demons. He has to confront everything he left behind, including his parents.

But how? How can he go back there? What is there for him but heartbreak and sorrow? What's the point of returning and stirring up more trouble? Clark doesn't doubt that everyone has moved on, he remembers hazily the short visit he made to the barn, and the conversation he heard. His parents seemed well on their way to accepting that he was gone, and who was he to break their peace?

And how can he face Lana and Chloe after what he did to them? He abandoned Lex at his wedding, and it was his fault Martha lost the baby.

Not for the first time, Clark feels like giving into his anger and frustration, flinging open the freezer door, and jamming that glowing red rock back onto his finger. The thought makes him shudder, and he's not sure whether it's from fear or anticipation, or even a mixture of both.It makes him feel ill.

The red kryptonite is like a drug, every day he craves it, and the cravings never lessen, though he has learned how to ignore them somewhat. It's only in times of emotional turmoil that he's really susceptible to the lure of the ring. It's days like these that he hates the most:

Some days he's sure of his path. He has a physical and emotional obligation to Smiley, he truly can't stand the though of leaving her. His past is his past and his future is in Gotham. He's going to become a morally upright citizen of the city, and never look back. Looking back will only remind him of troubled and unhappy times.

Today is not one of those days.

"Kal?" He hears the voice an instant before he feels the hand on his shoulder, and wonders exactly when he fell asleep. The sun is well above the jutting horizon, and shining brightly into his bleary eyes.

"Mmph." He says, eloquently.

"Come on, get up. Have some breakfast." Smiley hauls him to his feet and he follows her to the kitchen. He watches as she cuts a bagel in half and puts it in the toaster. "What's going on, Kal?" She asks probingly.

"What do you mean?"

"What's with the brooding?" Smiley cracks three eggs into a small frying pan.

"Brooding?" He plays stupid.

"If I'm going to be here for a long time, I need to know something about the man I'm with." Clark can hear it in her voice; when she says man, she means _boy_.

"I don't own you any explanations." He replies snappily.

"What do you mean, you don't own me any explanations? I killed a man for you. I think I deserve something." Her voice is deathly quiet. She and Clark have never spoken about the incident in the bank, and it wasn't something he was expecting from her. But there it was, plain as day.

"Every crazy thing that has happened in this city, we have looked after each other! Every time you needed something I gave what I had! I don't get it? What more do I have to do for you to trust me? After everything you've done, I kind of expected you to want at least one person you can talk to! Why not me?"

"Well," Clark says, regretting the words even before they escape his lips, "How do you talk to the girl who whored herself out to you for food and a joyride?"

"What the fuck, Kal!" Smiley cries, forgetting the eggs and pulling at the roots of her messy hair. "Who the hell are you?"

Clark's shoulders tense. "I'm nobody. My life didn't start until I came to Gotham with you."

"Don't give me that shit!" He marvels at the words flowing between them. It's almost as if he's watching a movie that ploughs fatefully toward the end, where nothing he can say or do will stop the final action. "I'm not stupid! So you ran away from home. I'm not going to judge you and I'm not going to hate you for it!"

"What do you want from me?" Clark goes on the defensive. "I know even less about you than you know about me!"

"Well I'd tell you if you bothered to ask!"

"Well I'd have asked if I was interested." Clark feels a clammy dread sinking into his bones. He can almost hear the ring calling to him from the freezer. _Don't be such a coward_, it says, _show her who's the boss!_

For the first time in a long time, Clark succumbs tothat darkinner voice, and does something he's quite sure he'll regret for a very long time.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I haven't done it yet, but I know it's long overdue, so:

Thanks to

**Katie:** Thank you so much! I'm so glad that you enjoy the character of Smiley. The biggest problem I find is that people tend to make theiroriginal characterskind of black or white. Humans react in different ways depending on so many factors; food, sleep, environment, stress, and outside stimuli in addition to their own personality. The basic building blocks are there that tell you how your character is going to react, but if you don't take into account the otherrelevant factors, your character will always react in the same way. It's really nice to see that people recognise the work that goes into making a believable OC.

**CrashSlayer:** Yes I had writer's block and I had to **force** myself to get past this chapter. It was hard but worth it, and the action is going to pick up a lot in the next few months! I'm excited! The ideas are flowing! And thank you so much for every review you've given me. I'm so flattered that you like my story!

**MaryElise:** I couldn't make Clark go running back to his parents! He has responsibilities in Gotham, now. He also has to face the consequences for the crimes he committed. I.E. Bank robber and **murder.** Thanks for all your reviews, I love it when people review more than once, it means people really care about the story.

Andalsoto: cursedgirl, joe smith, puffyBear, jw, Irene, Dreamkoko, YokoYuyGal, Hanntil mahha, Cammie, sassoune, Woelfle, south manager 04, Lindsay1, DuMont, focker876

I really value reviews, even if they're just to say 'I really liked your story' or 'you made an error here' or 'why did you do this'. It lets me know that people are reading and appreciating what I'm writing. So I can't thank everyone enough for all the reviews.

And please, don't stop now. Keep reviewing!


	16. arc 1 Ch16

Clark stares directly into the setting sun. The light makes his eyes burn, but it feels good. It feels like penance.

He is slumped forward; elbows on his knees, shoulders hunched, an air of defeat surrouding him. After all, why shouldn't his outsides mirror his insides?

It's a cold and painful thing when a boy thinks he's sunk down as far as possible, and then the hole he's dug himself collapses out from under him. Clark can't see any way to free himself, and he hardly even wants to try.

Sitting at the harbour, Clark turns his gaze to the black water stretched out as far as the eye can see. Many men better than him have been sucked away with the current; out into the ocean where there's nothing but water and sky, and no one survives. If he thought he could drown, Clark would be in that water like a man who truly wished to die.

Smiley. Smiley. Smiley. Smiley. Smiley.

Who was he, she had asked him. Who the _fuck _was he? He'd had no answer, or at least not one that she would have accepted.

If he asks _himself_ that question, he gets an entirely different answer.

"Spare a dollar?" An old man, battered by time and pain and poverty, hobbles by. Clark stares at him for a moment and then pulls out his wallet. There are three fifty-dollar bills inside, and he thrusts them at the man. "Is this a joke?" The old man becomes suspicious. "What do you want for it?"

Clark grimaces. "Nothing." As the man shuffles away, Clark notices the quality of the coat he's wearing, and wonders if someone else gave him a similar gift some time ago. Maybe they were guilty too.

With nothing else to do, Clark stands, brushing off his legs with a feeling of finality.

There are people around, so rather than super-speedinghe strides purposefully down the street toward the city centre. He steps inside Gotham's First National Bank and walks up to the teller.

"Hello, how may I help you?" She asks with a perfunctory smile.

"I need to set up an account."

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"What can I get you?"

"A club sandwich please." Clark leans against the counter, smiling at the sub girl. The smile is hollow. He's passed through what seems like a thousand little towns exactly like the one he's in, and they're all the same. It's always the same girl working at the same fast food joint on the same street in the same town. Somerset is no different.

"You're not from around here, are you?" She asks, while her partner is busy cutting bread and piling meat onto it.

"Nope." His eyes flick away from her face, to the window. To Gotham. He's so far away now that even if he squints he still won't be able to see it. "Just passing through."

"Well it's gettin' late, and there's a storm brewin', so you might wanna think about getting a room for the night."

His eyes catch on the dark clouds on the horizon, and he asks himself once again why he decided to drive home rather than run.

But than answer is so obvious. If he were normal, he wouldn't be able to put about a thousand miles between them in the space of a few minutes. There's no reason to rush, anyway. Not with two people waiting for him to return to a home he helped destroy.

He still debates with the idea of calling his parents. Not since that dark night in Gotham has he called home, though he's dreamed of it so many times. In his best case scenario, the minute his mother picks up the phone she begins telling him how much she loves and needs him. Clark doesn't want to even think about worst case.

"Hey." The girl says, handing him his sandwich. "That comes to four-fifty-five." Clark pulls out a five and drops it on the counter. The place is crowded with curious, searching faces, so he decides to eat in his car. He's almost to the door when he hears the sub girl call out; "Hey, if you end up stickin' around town for the night, you should come down to The Whisky Barrel!"

"Sure." He throws back carelessly. He won't go. Even if he does get a room in this god-forsaken place he won't-can't share himself with anybody. Not tonight, and maybe not ever again. He can't even imagine it.

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The next morning finds him awake and humming with anxiety. Apart from an old floor lamp and a rickety nightstand, the bed is the only furniture in the room, and he's been sitting on the edge of the stained andlumpy mattress since the clock read four-forty-five.

There's somethingso overtlypathetic about the fact that it's currently ten o-clock and he hasn't moved once. He wants to feel bad. He wants to feel guilty, and depressed, and lonely and everything he's been blocking out. He wants the emptiness to overtake him so he can just lie down and give up and finally just get on with his life, always knowing that he failed.

He wants that. So. Badly.

The morning floats by and with it the realisation that he is almost exactly halfway to Kansas. Clark knows now that no matter where he goes, there is no safe haven for him. He can either go back or go forward, and each option has its drawbacks, just as each option has its appeal. However, he's already set out on this journey, and he might as well finish it.

"God." He groans, as a splitting pain pierces his brain. It only takes a moment to realise that pain is a scream, and his super hearing is acting up. He can also hear panting, and it sounds distressed. He's out of his room before he even realises it, following his ears to the desperate sound. He's up two flights of stairs and down a long corridor before he finds the room. His x-ray vision comes in handy as his cheeks flush bright red. He's justglad he didn't knock the door down in his haste.

He leaves the couple and heads back to his room, disgusted and kicking himself. He can never do anything right. Angry and humiliated, Clark stuffs what little he had taken with him from Gotham further into his duffel bag and pulls the zipper shut.

Within minutes, the town is but a fading memory to him, and the map on the passenger seat tells him he has about fourteen hours of travel left until he reaches Smallville. The one thing Clark knows for sure is that once he gets back home, nothing will ever be the same again.

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A/N

Again, I'm not too happy with this chapter. It feels too rushed, and I might go back and rewrite it before I post the next chapter, but then again, maybe not...

Just for clarification, the story is being told in three arcs, and with only one chapter left, I'm almost at the end of it. Each arc represents a different part of Clark, and the journey he has to make to become the same man who is capable of being Superman. Right now Clark is in a state of extreme depression, trying to deal with the guilt of all the crimes he committed and coerced Smiley into committing, including murder. He can't forgive himself for what he did, but his return to Smallville represents what it always has: healing.

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Thanks to 

**Katie:** Don't worry! Smiley's not dead! Unfortunately, she's going to be out of the picture probably until the middle of arc two, so you won't see her again until then.

**LotornoMiko:** Yay! A new reader! I'm so glad you like the story, please, keep reading! There's a lot more coming!

**south manger 04: **He hasn't called his parents yet, but he's on his way home, and he'll be getting there in the next chapter or so.

**valerie and company: **I'm sorry it took so long to get that last chapter out! It was tough, but it was really encouraging, having faithful reviewers like you to keep me going! The rest of the story is pretty much planned out now; I just have to figure out a way to write it so it sounds good!

Thanks everybody, and keep on reviewing!


	17. Arc 1 Ch17

A/N: First I just have to apologise for taking so damn long when I specifically said the updates would be coming sooner. This chapter was ready to be posted about two days after the previous one, and then suddenly my computer stopped working. I haven't been ably to get access to anything on my hard drive until now, when I was able to connect it to another computer in the house. I will also be posting another chapter sometime either later today or tomorrow.

Thank you so much for your patience and everything!

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When Clark drives up the dusty farm road nothing is as he remembered it. There is a for sale sign swinging in the yard and the normally bright yellow house paint looks faded and dull. The windows are shuttered, and the driveway is immaculate.

Clark wants to leave, run back to Gotham or somewhere else-somewhere safe. Mostly he wants to go back to Smiley, curl up around her and hold her and have her whisper reassurances to him that he so desperately wants to believe. But he can't.

He steels himself. Tries to banish the thought that maybe they don't want him anymore, that maybe now that he's gone they've realized how much trouble he really is and how much better off they are without him. Maybe they'll turn him away. And that's the scariest thought of all.

'Sorry boy.' Jonathan will say, tipping his cowboy hat and scuffing the ground with the toe of his boot. 'You were just gone too long. We don't really have much use for you anymore.' And behind him will be Martha, arms crossed, slightly sad look on her face, as if it's something necessary, but she doesn't like to get her hands dirty.

NO. Clark pushes that scenario from his head and forces him to start toward the house. His parents are better than that, even if he's not.

He climbs the stairs of the porch and positions himself in front of the door. He thinks about just walking in, but it might be too much of an invasion. Brushes off all the lint he already knows isn't there. Knocks three times. Waits.

Clark waits. He waits for what seems like hours but at most is only thirty seconds and then he hears a creak and a shuffle. He wonders, who will come to the door? Will it be mom or dad? Will they yell at him, hug him, cry, smile? He imagines their faces; a mix of shock and joy. They'll take him into their arms and laugh and mom will cry and dad will go out into the yard and tear up the for sale sign because now that they've got Clark back they can go on. They don't have to give up.

The hardest part will be telling them the whole story. He'll have to tell them about the crimes he's committed, Smiley and the whole damn trip. But they'll forgive him. He knows that for sure.

The door finally opens to reveal Jonathan, looking about fifteen years older than he did when Clark left, and he can't help it. His face crumples. "Dad." Is all he can get out before he falls into his fathers open, shocked arms. He sobs into the familiar flannel, and his dad can't hold their combined weight, so they sink to the floor. It isn't until his tears finally dry that Clark realises Jonathan has been crying too.

"Clark." His father croaks. "You're home-oh god." Jonathan isn't letting go and for once Clark is grateful. He needs his parents and never realised how much until now, when he finally has them back.

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"Where's mom?" Clark doesn't ask as Jonathan leads them into the kitchen. There are dirty dishes in the sink and a metropolis newspaper spread out across the kitchen table. It's open to the classifieds, and Clark has to look away. He wants to ask, but he's too afraid of the answer he might get. The relief that rushed into his body when he first saw his father begins to trickle away, leaving this cold, biting dread. He has the feeling there might be no turning back, the giving up might have happened too long ago for him to set it right.

What's going on? Jonathan must see the questions in Clark's eyes, because he sighs, defeated.

I'd better call your mother." He says. "She'll want to see you-know you're alright." Clark nods, watching his father pick up the phone. He squints at a number taped to the fridge. Above it, printed in big block letters: MARTHA. Jonathan reads it carefully, eyes returning to the paper for each digit dialled, and once again Clark wants to ask him just what has happened since he's been gone. Why is the house up for sale?

"Hello, it's Jonathan." He says, tersely. "I need to speak to Martha." There is a pause. "It's about our son!" He's clearly upset, and Clark wants to do something, anything to relieve the tension behind his father's eyes and the pain in his father's voice. The remaining conversation is brief, and chilled. Jonathan barely says anything more than "He's back, Martha." Before he hangs up the phone.

"What did she say?" Clark asks timidly.

"She'll be here in about two and a half hours." His father replies before coughing violently.

Clark runs to the sink and pulls a mug out of the drying rack, filling it with cold water and returning to Jonathan's side. He hands it over and Jonathan drains the whole thing before regaining control.

"Why is mom in Metropolis?" Clark tries to make his voice neutral, but he's sure his father senses the edge of desperation, because he looks away-at the floor, at his mug, anywhere but at his son.

"Your mother moved out about three months ago. She's living with your grandma and grandpa now." His voice is resigned, like he's finally getting used to her being gone, but it's new to Clark and he's not sure how to take it.

It's barely comprehensible, because his whole plan was about returning to his mother and father to live on the farm and rejoin that strong, happy family unit they once were.

Oh god. _Were._ When he left…

"Jesus." He gasps out with a harsh, panting breath. "Everything I touch!" And like than, he's gone.

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Of course, he's not leaving again. He can't imagine what that would be like on his parents. He can see the strain it's already put on them. His mother arrived about ten minutes ago, rolling up to the house in a Porsche, and if that weren't enough, glowing. She's wearing the kind of clothes he's only seen in his brief brushes with Lex's circle of friends, and her skin is smooth and made up beautifully. He almost doesn't recognise her.

He even falters on his way to hug her, but she ignores it and runs into his arms with a choked cry.

"Oh Clark. We thought we'd lost you." She says tearfully, but he still can't get over the way she looks.

"Mom-" he stutters, "what's going on?"

"Oh sweetheart." She murmurs, brushing a manicured hand across his cheek. "Let's go inside and we'll talk about it."

And Clark can do nothing but comply, following her into the house and hoping against all hope that everything will be okay again someday.

END ARC 1

Arc 2 part 1 coming soon!

**Katie**- I love you! When you asked me to update it broke my heart because I couldn't even write more without the stuff I had already written buried in my hard drive! Your reviews always brighten my day. So thank you! And don't worry about Smiley, she'll be back! 

**Lizzie**- Unfortunately for me (because I love writing redclark) Clark is pretty much finished with his red K experiences, BUT Smiley will definitely be returning in a little while.


	18. Arc 2 Ch1

A/N: This is the part of the story where it seriously breaks off and becomes a total AU. Some strange things are happening and things are going to get shaken up even more.

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Clark's not sure how it all got so complicated. Oh sure, he blew up his parents, ran away from home, hooked up with a homeless girl, robbed a few banks and killed a couple people, but that doesn't explain any of this.

His mom is gone, back to Metropolis with her shiny car and pointy shoes, and he and his father are alone in the house again. Jonathan tells him there's a couple coming over to view the property in the afternoon, so why doesn't Clark go say hello to his old friends?

Clark doesn't point out that it's a Wednesday, and it's November, so everyone is likely to be in school right now. He just slips on his jacket and steps outside. It's not as cold as it was the day he left Gotham, but there's still a biting wind, and something tells him the first snowfall will be coming early this year.

Instead of heading into town, Clark begins the long trek to the Luthor mansion.

He wishes he had attended Lex's wedding, although from what he'd heard, it hadn't turned out to be a very happy marriage. He wishes he could have been here when Lex returned. Instead he had been partying like crazy, without a care in the world. It's thoughts like these that darken his mood, and by the time he arrives at the front gate he is in a very dark mood.

The iron bars are shut, so Clark presses the intercom buzzer.

"Yes?" an unfamiliar voice crackles through the system.

"I'm here to see Lex." Clark doesn't expand, already in a foul temper.

"Who is it?"

"Clark Kent." He says, and it's something he's never had to say before. Lex has rarely had the gates shut before, and whenever they were, he only had to say his name and the security guard would buzz him right through.

There is a short pause.

"I'm sorry, you're not on the list."

"What?" Clark presses the intercom button again. "What does that mean?"

There is no reply, and Clark kicks the dirt angrily. Thinks about ripping the wrought iron off its hinges and super-speeding straight into Lex's office, but instead he turns away, feeling humiliated and upset.

The walk home seems longer than usual, probably because he doesn't actually want to go home. He doesn't actually want to go anywhere in Smallville, and wow. Clark's never really identified with the name of the town so much. It's _too_ small. It's too easy to find your way, and everybody knows you in Smallville. In Gotham and Metropolis it was easy to get lost, be just another face in the crowd. It was easy to be invisible.

Clark knows he's entirely too visible in a small town like this, and entirely too discontent. Even though he's barely been back for two days, he already feels restless and lonely, especially with all the changes that have taken place since he's been gone.

The bed in his old room seems too small for him, the room even seems cramped, the house quaint. The homey feel is gone and Clark guesses his mother's absence has something to do with it. There's a pervading fog of loss surrounding the house now, and Clark kind of understands why Jonathan wants to sell it, even though he still doesn't understand what happened between his parents in the first place. They both assured him it had nothing to do with him, but Clark knows the truth in their eyes better than they do.

And he can't help but think that maybe if he hadn't left… Maybe if he hadn't killed the baby… Maybe maybe maybe.

But of course, he can't know. And knowing _that_ makes it no better.

Clark finally arrives at home just as the couple are leaving. He watches his father shake their hands warmly, smiling widely, and he can't help but imagine what it would have been like if he hadn't come home. Jonathan wouldn't have to worry about a child who had missed four months of his eleventh year in school. He wouldn't have to worry about finding a place with two bedrooms rather than just one.

His mother had asked Clark to return to Metropolis with her, but he couldn't get past the fact that she had just _deserted_ her husband. Clark had expected them to lean on and turn _to_ each other for support while he was gone, not turn _on_ each other.

But of course he had taken their explanations and swallowed them like the good son that he wanted to be, crushing them in his mind and turning the blame on the person it really belonged to: Clark himself.

The couple smile at him as they drive by, and he ignores them, heading up the porch steps with heavy feet and a heavy heart. He finds his father in the kitchen again; it seems to be his favourite room of the house, nowadays.

"It went well." Jonathan tells Clark without prompting. To be honest, Clark would rather just not know. "I think they're going to buy."

Clark nods dully and grabs a banana from the basket on the table. The kitchen is sparkling, and he imagines Jonathan made sure everything was immaculate for the potential buyers. Saying nothing, he wanders back outside to the barn.

It's still cold, so he turns on the space heater in the loft and lies down on the couch, pulling a quilt over himself. He lies there, wrapped in a blanket and mushing up the banana in his mouth until the peel slips from his finger and he falls into an unhappy sleep.

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Clark doesn't realise there's someone in the loft with him until after he's stretched, yawned and rubbed his eyes. The barn is dark, and the space heater has made it oppressively hot. He pushes the blanket off of his body, intent on finding out what time it is, when he sees the figure sitting on a rickety wooden chair in the corner.

It may be dark, but it's not dark enough that Clark doesn't recognise a familiar body. "Lex?" He hates himself for allowing his voice to crack like that.

"When my plane crashed, do you know what my last thought was?" Lex asks, still bathed in shadow.

"No." It seems like a dream; like the spectre of Lex Luthor is sitting there asking strange and cryptic questions.

"I thought: Clark will save me. He'll get me out of this." The voice was devoid of any blame, but Clark still felt it, gnawing at his soul. One more thing to punish himself for.

Clark swallows. "I'm sorry, Lex. Bit it's not like I could have done any more that anyone else." The empty lie chokes him and he feels truly ill. After everything this man has been through he still doesn't get the real truth. But Lex doesn't even seem to notice.

"Did you know I helped your parents search for you?" He asks. "I spent a lot of time with them after I returned. I saw their marriage fall apart."

Clark groans and buries his head in his hands. He lies back down.

"Lex." The one tortured word escapes his lips, and he literally has nothing to say. No words will form in his mind.

Lex stands and brushes off his pants. "Go to sleep, Clark. Come by tomorrow." He says, a softness in his voice that wasn't present before. He pads gently down the stairs and into the dark night. A car quietly hums to life and fades quickly into the distance.

Clark closes his eyes. He wishes he could say he is no longer tired, after sleeping away much of the afternoon, but he feels as though he hasn't been sleeping at all. Theinstant his head hits the sofa cushion he's out like a light.

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**Lizzie**- Thank you, I'm glad you're enjoying the story. I'm excited about Smiley coming back, too, though it might not be for a little while. And a hint: she's going to be a very different person when she finally returns.

**Dr. Masaki**- Clark needs to face his past before he can become the hero we know and love. He may be on the road to recovery, but there are definitely a lot of obstacles still in his way, so you can expect more action in the coming chapters.

**Katie**- Yes, I was surprised when they split up as well! I was planning on something much different, but that's the way the characters led me, so… Yes, Clark is trying to confront his problems, the main ones being the people he left behind. Chloe and Lana will be in the upcoming chapters, and aren't you just a little psychic! Something has happened while Clark's been away… Hmm, a mystery! Keep on reviewing! Your reviews are inspiring me to write more!


	19. Arc 2 Ch 2a

A/N: This chapter is a little shorter than usual only because it's been split into two. I wrote the entire thing, and then hated the whole second half, so I cruelly cut it off at the cliffie… I know, I know, boo hiss. I'm doing exams right now and I don't have tim for anything else; I'm desperately close to failing at least one of my classes, so… The second half of this chapter will be coming as soon as I get a chance to re write it.

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Clark doesn't get to see Lex the next day. In fact, when he arrives at the mansion he is told by the same disembodied voice as before that Mr. Luthor has been called to Metropolis on urgent business, and doesn't know when he'll be returning. So, for the next few days he mopes around the still spotless house while his father spends most of his time on the computer, apparently searching for an apartment and a job.

During this time, Clark hides mainly in his fortress, wondering why he came back at all. Nothing is better than when he was in Gotham; everything is worse! It was cold there, but in Smallville the wind whips over the plains and bites into your skin the way no wind could manage in a big city. There's nothing for him to do, and he's too much of a coward to go into town, so he spends most of his time sleeping or brooding.

It's almost a full two weeks since the midnight visit from Lex when he hears a car coming down the drive. He knows, unless Lex has taken to using cheap American motors, it's someone else, and assumes it's someone his dad has been expecting. Only when he hears the swift crunch of shoes on the gravel leading to the barn does his heart begin to race.

"Clark?" The cry is almost desperate, and he shoots up from where he's been lying, feet landing with a heavy thump on the floor. Obviously she hears him, because she hurries up the creaky wooden stairs.

When Chloe sees him, he barely has a chance to stand before she's slamming into him with a crushing force. She's sobbing, and Clark can barely comprehend her actions, can barely hold her up as she leans heavily against him. It's such a striking turnabout from the last time they spoke in Metropolis that he can't even breathe properly for a few moments. When he finally does, it's jagged and it _hurts_, but the relief is so great that he doesn't care at all.

They stand together for a few minutes until her sobbing subsides and his shirt is thoroughly soaked, and then she just clutches at him for a few moments after that.

"Chloe?" He questions, voice scratchy from disuse.

She looks up into his face and he sees a brokenness there that he's never seen before. "God, Clark. You're such a fucking asshole." The declaration is spoken almost sotto voce, and her hands are still twisted up in his shirt, so Clark really has no idea how to respond.

"Uh… I'm sorry?" It's true; he's sorry, he's been sorry for a long time now, but it sounds so pitiful in his ears that even he winces. Chloe just begins to laugh.

"God." She says again, and leans against him, still chuckling. "I can't even be mad at you." Her head is resting against Clark's shoulder, and she breathes him in. "I can't believe you're back." She says with faint surprise colouring her voice.

"Yeah… me neither." There seems to be a mutual decision to sit, so they arrange themselves at either end of the couch, facing each other. Clark reaches over the back and pulls a blanket over for Chloe, who spreads it across the both of them silently.

Clark finally opens his mouth to say something, though he's not sure what, but Chloe beats him to it.

"If you don't tell me exactly everything, I will never forgive you." The statement is short and to the point, and judging by her sharp tone, he guesses that she is deadly serious.

"Um, ok." He says, and they stare at each other. "I don't really know where to start." He feels like a lost little boy, fumbling for some kind of stability but finding he's chipped it all way himself. He has no one to blame but himself for that.

"The beginning is the usual place." She replies archly.

"Ok." He rubs his hands together nervously. The beginning. She wants him to start at the beginning. . . But what is the beginning? Where did everything start? Can he trust her with everything? There's something in him that says yes, and that same little voice also says that she's going to know if he's lying, and she's not kidding about never forgiving him. He also has to try and make up for everything that happened between them before- well- everything.

"Ok." He says again, this time with more confidence. If this is something he has to do, then so be it. "Ok."

"Third time's the charm, Clark." There's an air of expectancy around her.

"Ok. . . From the beginning. . . I'manalien."

A pause.

"_What?"_

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A big thank you to my lovely reviewers: **lightsm00, Celtic Cross, Lizzie, and immrlucky.** I love you all.


	20. Arc 2 Ch 2b

A/N-WARNING: Here it is… I really struggled with this chapter. I had it all written and ready to post, but I knew there was something wrong with it. I couldn't post it until I fixed it, and I didn't know how to fix it until last night. I realised that there was something missing from the story, and I agonised over it before I finally rewrote this chapter.

I'm still really conflicted about the upcoming chapters. I know what I want to happen, but how to get there… I have very few options. I'm not sure what avenue I want to take. Should I be worried about offending anybody, or just write what I believe is the only way this story can plausibly end… In any case, it's up to me in then end.

If you can guess what I'm talking about, I'll give you a sneak peek of the next chapter.:-) Enjoy

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In the end it all comes out. The whole damn story and it seems that telling Smiley has opened the floodgates because it's not nearly as hard with Chloe as it was with her. Maybe it's because this kind of love is safer; less likely to rip your heart out when it went, and easier to snuff out if necessary.

Chloe stays with him all day, despite the fact that she had rushed over during the school's lunch hour to see him, and ends up missing a history test.

They get some ice cream from the freezer and eat it straight from the carton together. It feels like forever since he felt this normal, and it's just really, painfully good. He wants to keep on feeling this way for as long as possible, but Chloe's cell phone rings and she goes home, and the peaceful tone of the afternoon is broken.

By the time the sun goes down, Clark is back to his usual morose self.

The next day he calls Lex's house at eight in the morning, just like he's been doing for the past two weeks. He's expecting that same bland voice to answer, telling him unconcernedly that yes, Lex is still in Metropolis and no, he hasn't said when he'll be returning, but this time Clark is pleasantly surprised.

"Yes?" Lex's unmistakeable voice comes through, and Clark is just shocked enough to have lost his tongue. "Hello?" Lex repeats.

"Lex!" He shouts, before the other man has a chance to hang up the phone. "It's me, Clark."

There is a pause. "Clark." He says blandly, almost professionally, "I'm sorry I wasn't around when you came to call; I had some pressing matters to attend to in Metropolis."

"It's ok." Clark feels vaguely as though he's being mocked.

"I'd like you to you come over for dinner tonight." Lex invites.

"Um, sure. What time?" Clark asks eagerly.

"Around seven. I'll tell Darius to buzz you in. See you then." The phone clicks down before Clark can even say goodbye, and he's left feeling a little faded at the treatment, but he knows it's not more than he deserves.

Seven can't come early enough and he leaves the house half an hour early. He tells his father where he's going, but it's hard to get much of a reaction out of him nowadays. Ever since that day when Clark returned to the farm, Jonathan has been holding himself at a distance, speaking very little and always matter-of-factly.

He arrives at the mansion at six forty-five. The man in the intercom- _Darius_, Clark reminds himself- buzzes him in, and he's told to wait in the foyer. He waits for what feels like forever, when finally he hears the click-clack of expensive shoes coming down the stairs. Seeing Lex today is like seeing him come back from the dead. It's like that night weeks ago never happened, or that phone conversation. Like he never read the newspapers or saw that news bulletin telling him that Lex really was alive.

Clark can feel the itchy heat building behind his eyes, threatening to spill over with tears at any given moment. "Lex." He chokes, standing. The bland businessman disappears, and Clark sees a rare vulnerability push any cold exteriors aside as Lex half-walks-half-runs toward him. They hug for a long moment, and finally Lex pulls back.

"God, Lex. You have no idea how good it is to see you." Clark breathes, scrubbing away the few tears that managed to escape.

"Clark, you're in a lot of trouble." He says seriously, holding him at arm's length.

"What do you mean?" His stomach drops. He has a feeling he knows what Lex is talking about.

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The pictures are very clear. They're also very, very incriminating. Most of them are back or profile shots, but there are a few face shots mixed in with the bunch. The papers are like a blur, though. He can't bring himself to read them.

"You need to see these, as well." Lex hands him a few papers that read WANTED as the header. Clark puts them back on the desk without looking through them. "Clark?"

"I already know what's in them." He says dully, and Lex gets a dangerous glint in his eye. The bald man crosses behind his desk and sits down, pulling the papers toward himself.

"Are you sure? Assault. Assault with a deadly weapon. Carrying a concealed weapon. Armed robbery. Destruction of public property. Assaulting a police officer. At least two counts of _murder_. That sure as hell doesn't sound like the Clark Kent I knew." Lex speaks quietly, but Clark can tell every muscle in his body is clenched in anger.

"It wasn't." Clark begins, and then stops, words and worries spinning around in his mind. What could he say? Lex had photographic evidence of him punching through cash machines and shooting at police officers outside of a freshly robbed bank.

"It wasn't what, Clark? Up until yesterday you were wanted in three separate cities across the country!" Clark can almost see Lex counting back from ten in his head.

"I wasn't trying to deny it, Lex." Clark says miserably, and buries his face in his hands. "And what do you mean up until yesterday?"

"Clark!" Lex is clearly not going to answer him, so he takes a few deep breaths.

"Lex… God. Okay. I… did some really bad stuff, Lex." He feels like running, hiding, curling up in a little ball and disappearing, but his best friend is still waiting for an answer, and he has a new policy. Honesty is best.

Lex just looks at him like he's retarded, and Clark guesses, yes, that may have already been obvious.

"Lex, please just tell me what you meant." It's a stalling tactic, but the desperation on his face is real, and Lex must see something there that makes him relent.

"I cleaned up your messes, Clark. That's where I've been when I haven't in Metropolis, trying to keep my father from having me committed to a mental institute." He chuckles humourlessly. "Clark, I'm not holding your record hostage for your secrets." He says sincerely, and Clark believes him. It doesn't keep the guilt of lying at bay. "After Lexcorp, you've been my main concern since I was rescued. I've been trying to find you, but your parents wouldn't tell my anything!" He grabs a fashion magazine that Clark has never heard of and flips it open. "You're lucky no one here has seen this."

Clark looks at the spread, surprised to find a picture of himself and Smiley dominating the page. He touches the page; wanting to feel Smiley's hair, see if it's as soft and thick as in real life. He pulls his hand away, knowing he can never touch her again. "I don't even really remember this." Clark murmurs, caught up in memories of her skin and her smile.

"Clark."

A flush spreads across his cheeks as he looks up to meet Lex's steady gaze. "My mom lost the baby and it was my fault." He blurts, just to say something.

Lex sits back in his chair. Waits. "And so you ran away to Metropolis."

A jerky nod. "Right."

Lex has a disturbed look on his face. "Clark, I've never known you to set out to deliberately hurt anyone before I found out about what you'd been doing in Metropolis and Gotham."

"There was this… drug." Clark searches for words that will explain without revealing his biggest secret. Why can't he tell the truth, for once? It had felt so good with Chloe, like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders… Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. "God… My dad's gonna kill me." He mutters.

"If you're that afraid to tell me, you can go. Consider the matter dropped. And you don't have to worry about the feds coming to your door, it's all been taken care of." The defeat in Lex's voice is overpowering, and the bleak look on his face is all Clark needs to see to know Lex has given up. Clark realises he is halfway out of his chair when he catches himself.

"No. You deserve the truth, Lex."

Lex says nothing.

"The truth is, I made a mistake." Clark thinks this is probably one of the most frightening moments in his life. Forget getting hit by a speeding car, forget tornadoes, forget first kisses and explosions and meteor rocks. Lex can really _hurt_ Clark. "I made a continuous series of really bad mistakes." He almost laughs. "For five and a half months." Clark runs a hand through his hair. One thing hadn't been a mistake—or had it?

"So I was pretty much constantly high once I got to Metropolis. I started going to clubs and hooking up with girls, and then I didn't have any money. The… drug I had was like… It lowered my inhibitions and made me—mean. I wasn't a good person during that time. I did a lot of things-" Clark chokes on his words. "I did things I hate myself for now. Which you obviously know about."

Lex nods. "Yes."

Clark isn't sure whether or not he should go on. On one hand he's already almost halfway there, but on the other hand is the constant threat to Clark's freedom and safety. He knows Lex is a much bigger threat to him than Chloe is, if only because of the huge difference in resources. But no. The issue here isn't Clark's trust in Lex, It's Clark's trust in himself. And he's not going to let that get in the way of this pivotal moment.

"I'm different from anybody you'll ever meet." _I think_, he adds silently.

"I gathered that." The other man says with the slightest trace of a smile in his voice.

"I'm—I'm really fast, and really strong. Um, I can see through things, I can shoot fire from my eyes."

"A meteor mutant." Lex is nodding as if it all makes sense now. Clark pauses. He could say yes and it would all… be okay again, maybe. But it wouldn't be the truth, and the truth is penance, and he desperately needs the kind of redemption only the truth can provide.

"You really did hit me with your car. I caused the explosion that made my mom miscarry. I had to destroy my ship."

"Your ship." Lex says, not comprehending.

"My spaceship."

The laughter is unexpected, because, really, who laughs at a super-strong, super-fast murderous alien? Lex, apparently. Clark isn't sure what to say. This is a reaction he hasn't come across yet. Slowly the laughter peters off.

"… Your spaceship." Lex says, wonder in his voice, splashed across his face. "…God."

"Almost." Clark quips, but Lex doesn't hear it. There's a look in his eyes that Clark recognises but doesn't understand, and he dreads what it could mean.


	21. Arc 2 CH3

Clark doesn't go home.

Instead, he leaves the castle and walks slowly down the dusty highway until he can see the farmhouse in the distance. He calls it 'the farmhouse' now because he can't bear to think of it as home; He knows there was a time when he was happy and satisfied with his life, but that time is long dead and gone. Dried up and as shrivelled in his memory as a leaf at the end of autumn.

His eyes are on the darkening horizon. The sun has set, but the night's curling fingers have yet to reach the still-pale-lit strip of blue. Clark thinks that the setting sun is at once too accurate and too beautiful a metaphor for his life… Only he can no longer see the light at the edge of the world; can no longer see the rose coloured world that he lived in when all his cares were wrapped up in whether Lana Lang would notice him, or if he would miss the bus to school.

Now, legally absolved of his crimes, it does nothing to curb the overwhelming and crushing guilt. He thinks back. When did he last feel happy? It was with Smiley, he remembers:

"_A day without corn pops is like a day without sunshine." She quotes the old commercial as they walk through the supermarket. She picks up a box and holds it in front of her face, shaking it around. "A day without sunshiiiiiiinnne…"_

_His serious façade cracks and he snatches the cereal from her hands, dropping it into the cart and laughing. They continue down the aisle._

"_You know, I haven't done this in a really long time." She doesn't sound sad. Clark, behind his leather jacket and grim expression, marvels at her nonchalance. It's something they don't talk about much; the past is generally a taboo subject for both of them. But Smiley just comes right out and says it, as though it's not something she even really thinks about._

"_Yeah?"_

"_I remember going shopping with my mom. She hated it, but I thought it was the best thing ever. I loved all the pretty colours and boxes. And the bakery, that was my favourite. I would beg my mom to buy me one of those multicoloured sprinkle doughnuts every time we went to the store. I didn't know anything about stretching forty dollars across two weeks of food then." _

_Clark doesn't know what to say to that. He just feels sad, because he doesn't detect any hint of bitterness or regret. Even though there have been hard times at the farm, he can't imagine her life. But she seems to remember her childhood in flashes of happiness-doughnuts and colours and childish naiveté. _

_This isn't the place to ask, but: "Why did you leave home?" The question hangs in the air for a long while. They get to the condiments aisle before Smiley replies._

"_My mom was seeing this guy who used to beat her up a lot. One night he went for me after my mom had passed out… Anyway, the next day, I packed up my backpack and booked it." She picks up a jar of pickles. "These are my favourite." _

"_Okay." Clark swallows, agreeing with who knows what, and she puts the jar in the cart. Old men and women shuffle around them with carts half full of mouthwash and prune juice, and Clark watches them. Most of them are shopping alone, bent over their purchases, guarding their purses with fuzzy hawk-eyes. He watches them and wonders how many of them live alone. Gotham can be a cold and unforgiving city._

_There is a bin full of discount CD's by the freezers and Smiley stops to rifle through them. She picks one up and holds it out. "Check it out. I saw this guy live in Chicago. It was so awesome! We were at the way back of the field, in the dancing section, and he came all the way back to us! It was cool. He was playing his guitar and singing; we couldn't have been more than five feet away from him." She peers at the CD. "They're selling it for $2.99? Man…" She stares at the case. "That was a really good night."_

_Clark thinks today might turn out to be really good, too._

He doesn't realise he's crying until a sharp breeze chills the tears running down his cheeks. He wipes his face with a brisk swipe of his sleeves and starts back on the long road to the farm.

000

Jonathan Kent sits him down at the table the next day and tells him that he and Martha have been talking. They want Clark to move to Metropolis. It'll be safer; away from the meteor rocks and too-curious sheriffs. He'll be able to go to a new school. Jon doesn't mention the fact that he can't bear for his son to witness his utter failure, but Clark hears it anyway. Has been hearing it and only it for the last three long, silent weeks.

His father explains that Martha will come to collect Clark in a week, and that he had better say his goodbyes.

Clark doesn't say anything, and returns to his fortress of solitude.

The next day, Lana comes.

She is everything he remembers; small and graceful and full of herself. It's not as charming as it used to be, but with Lana comes something that Clark never anticipated.

She announces her arrival with the soft snicker-snack of hoof beats against gravel. Clark hears her and knows her. Knows the soft grunt she makes when she dismounts, and the soft chatter to the mare as she ties the reins to a post.

"Clark?" She calls into the dark silence of the barn. He thinks for a moment about not answering, but can't help it. He stands and goes to the rail.

"Lana." She looks up at his slightly choked answer. She looks sad. "I didn't expect you to come see me."

"Well, I was hoping _you_ would come see _me_, but then Chloe told me you were leaving again…" Clark doesn't know whether to go down the stairs, and the indecision hangs in the air for a moment, until Lana solves the dilemma by slowly climbing up to meet him.

"Lana, I'm sorry-" He starts to say when she's finally standing in front of him, looking up at him with her shining doe eyes.

"Don't." He stops, surprised. "I don't want your apologies. I don't want your reasons. I just need to say something." She takes a deep breath, obviously gathering her strength. Clark braces himself for the stinging tirade he's about to get. "I forgive you. For everything. I don't know what you were going through-and I've had a lot of time to think about it, believe me-and I thought you should know that I don't blame you for what happened here in Smallville or in Metropolis. I had a really long talk with Chloe after she'd been to see you, and she told me everything. And I just want you to know, your secret's safe with me."

Clark chokes. _Fuck._ His mind fills with a litany of curses and shocked accusations. How could Chloe have betrayed him like that?

"You know?" He finally croaks.

"Sure, Clark, it's not that big of a deal." She says easily. "You could have come to me, instead of hiding it all the time."

"It's not?" His voice is rising to new heights of squeakiness. "I could?"

"You know, not everyone in this little town is as intolerant as you must think. We even have a new club at school!"

Um… Clark's panic enters whole new realms, because clearly they can't be talking about the same thing, and the fact that he is totally clueless is almost worse than before. "Um…"

"I joined it, just to support some friends, of course, but we're really making a difference in raising awareness. We're called The Rainbow Club. I know it's not that original, but what can you do, right?" She takes a step forward, and Clark is rocked by a jolt of something he decidedly _hasn't_ spent the past three months agonising over.

Lana continues to babble on, but Clark can no longer pay attention to her voice. His eyes slide of their own will to her neck, and he wonders why he didn't see it before. The shiny rock glitters unmercifully between her collarbones. He can see the curve of her breasts just peeking out of her low cut v-neck sweater.

"Where did you get that necklace?" He asks, and stares hungrily as her fingers reach up and rub the stone. It's wrapped in a twisting silver cage, and it reminds him a little of the old one.

"Oh, I found the stone a while ago. I figured since I lost my other one I'd just make a new one. It's not as special, but I like it. Why?" Lana takes another step forward, and Clark's heart skips a beat.

"Lana, I'm not feeling too well, I think you should go." The words come out haltingly, woodenly. They're more forced that not, and Clark is almost panting with the effort not to move.

"Clark, what's wrong?" The delicate girl steps forward and puts her hand on his arm in concern. A spike of want shoots through his body and Clark grabs hold of Lana by both arms. "Clark, You're kid of freaking me out here."

"Run away, Lana." He tells her, still holding tightly to her arms. She struggles against him, and his gaze never leaves the sparkle hanging from her throat.

"Tell me what's going on!" She cries, tears in her eyes, as the force of his grip increases. "Clark, stop!"

He shoves her away suddenly, too hard.

"Get out of here!" He cries, half turned away and hunched in on himself.

Cautiously, she takes a step back toward him. "If you'll only tell me what's wrong-" She begins.

"GO AWAY!"

She runs. He listens to her gallop away, and falls in a boneless heap on the couch, sobbing breathlessly and tearlessly.

That night he dreams of nothing but sparkling red jewels, and desire.

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Thanks to:

**Lizzie:** You'll have to wait and see… it could be a little while.

**Celtic Cross: **I haven't forgotten this story! I don't want to promise anything, but I've had a bit more time to write, so the next chapter should be out a little sooner than usual… Maybe even a little longer:) This story WILL be finished! No matter how long it takes! Even if nobody's reading it by the end! As for Lex and Smiley, they're both the two most important people in Clark's life right now… We'll just have to see what happens, won't we?

Heathen: When I read your review I burst out laughing-in a good way! You read my mind! I've been waiting to bring RedK back into the story, and Lana was the perfect scapegoat in this chapter, so go you! Cookies for heathen! I always enjoy long reviews. I love knowing what the reader is thinking; seeing if they're analyzing Clark the same way I am… Thank you for the lovely compliments! 


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